Portal Magazine
Volume 3 Issue 6
July 29th 2010
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Portal Magazine
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Vol. 3 Iss. 6
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Vol. 2 Issue 7 Links: CCSYC-13 Iseldar-1 Shallow Crobbits Iseldar - Chapter One - By: Ryan Barylski
CHAPTER 1
The sun was setting over the mountain range of God’s Teeth. From the distance that Iseldar and Simone were sitting there appeared to be huge diamonds, too numerous to count, sitting upon the mountain tops. They had cooked a few rabbits that Simone had been able to shoot with her bow but neither had finished what little meat they had provided. “I know your skill with a bow is remarkable but even I didn’t think that you could sneak up on, and shoot, something as skittish as a rabbit. Now that’s near legendary,” Iseldar said, smiling at Simone. Iseldar had been trying to get Simone, his companion, his teacher, his friend to respond to him ever since they had begun their forced journey out of Iseldaria. The journey had begun more than three days ago and Simone hadn’t said a word the whole time. It would have been one thing, Iseldar kept thinking, if they were on horseback and there was the noise of the horse’s hooves to keep him company, but they were being forced to walk. So there was just the quiet, rhythmic, setting of one foot being placed in front of another. “We will be coming to Latia’s pass by tomorrow’s sunset. I fear it will be the last time I see the sun set on this side of God’s Teeth in my life.” Simone’s eyes widened and her hard, tan, weathered face went pale white. She didn’t take her pale blue eyes from the flames of the fire in front of her though. She continued to stare at the flames, their hypnotic dance showing her something that only she could see. Iseldar regretted the comment as he watched his companion watching the fire. He realized that he had selfishly forgotten that it would most likely be the last night she ever spent in her homeland as well. Simone’s face went from pale white to crimson red. Her eyes narrowed, the anger in them burning hotter than the fire that she was staring into. Her taut, well trained body went from sitting to standing in the blink of an eye. Angrily she stomped out the fire, moving so quickly that her leather boots weren’t even singed. Iseldar watcher her as she turned her back on him, once again refusing to even look at him. Iseldar let out a long tired sigh as she angrily loosened the straps on the bundle that contained what was left of her worldly possessions. Where they were going to go he didn’t know and whether or not Simone had a destination in mind he couldn’t know because she wouldn’t speak to him. Wherever they were going though, he was sure the journey was going to be a long one. It would be made all the longer by the fact that his most trusted friend now quite possible hated him. Simone had arranged her blankets and slid underneath them with her back to Iseldar. He assumed that this meant that he would be taking first watch tonight. He reached into his vest and took out his flask. He swirled the contents around a bit before uncorking it and taking a few liberal swallows of the cheap, too sweet wine that were its contents. Isledar waited until the last rays of the sunset sank below the mountaintops and were replaced by the star filled night sky before turning his back on the mountain. He turned to stare in the direction of the homeland that he had been exiled from, Iseldaria. Out there, somewhere in the darkness of the plains, on the other side of the Life River, were men that he used to lead. Men that had once swore fealty to him. Men that he had failed. They would follow at a distance that wouldn’t allow them to be seen. However they would also track Iseldar’s movements to be sure that he was heading for God’s Teeth like he was supposed to. Iseldar had trained many of the soldiers in the regiment that was following him himself, he in turn had been trained by Simone, so he knew these men weren’t to be trifled with. He also knew that even if he did manage to escape back into Iseldaria that he was so reviled for a coward now that is own countrymen would likely kill him on sight. A wind that carried with it a slight chill from the mountains blew around Iseldar as he stood up and walked the perimeter of their campsite. They had passed mostly through dense forests, avoiding the towns and small settlements whenever possible, until they had crossed the Life River. After the crossing they faced vast, wide open plains of tall grass, dotted only here and there with an occasional scraggy, solitary tree and a few patches of shrubs. Beyond the plains was the rocky ground that led to God Teeth. Iseldar was sure that they wouldn’t be harmed by anyone following them unless he veered off course. That wouldn’t stop someone, or something, else from trying to kill them either for sport or for food. After circling the site and finding nothing he returned to sit nearer Simone than he previously had been. If only he could get her to talk to him. Even if it was only to scream at him and curse him for his cowardice and the betrayal of his heritage. Anything would have been better than the bitter silence that was now between them. Simone made a few low moaning sounds like she was in pain. Iseldar knew she must have been dreaming. By the desperate tone of the moans he figured he knew exactly what she was dreaming about. His failure. Isledar looked back in the direction of his country once more, back in the direction of his old home, Fortress Viscene. It was the place from which he was supposed to be ruling his land. It was the place of the failure that had brought Simone and him to be exiled. The morning of his failure had been breathtaking. The sun was partially hidden by a light, slightly gray cloud cover. The temperature was perfect for everyone but those who reveled in the extremes of the weather that sometimes took hold of Iseldaria. The anticipation of the crowds on the street and in the Fortresses huge, open aired square could be felt in the bones of every person in the kingdom. Iseldar had spent the entire night wrestling with the decision that he had come to. He knew he would be exiled, possibly even killed by the angry mobs of people that would undoubtedly try to tear him limb from limb for the disgrace that he was about to bring to them, but he had made up his mind. He wasn’t going to be part of what he felt was a madness that had stretched on during his family’s long history as the dominant tribe of Iseldaria. A madness that Iseldar had hoped would be put to an end when his father had unified all the tribes of Iseldaria under his might, but the madness continued on. He had been standing alone, gazing into a large mirror at the armor that was adorning his body when he heard the first ecstatic eruption from the crowd. Thousands of voices raised in unison to cheer on Iseldar’s father, Ravar. Iseldar, named so after his father united the tribes and brought back the ancient name of Iseldaria to the kingdom, didn’t need to look out a window or peek around a corner to know the look of the scene that was taking place in the square. Iseldar had been witness to what he was about to refuse to participate in three times. Simone had entered the room while the cheers of the multitudes were still going strong. She looked solemn yet proud as she looked over Iseldar. This was the moment that she had trained him for, that she had put countless hours of herself into, so that this most honored tradition could be carried out. Iseldar took a few steps towards his lifelong teacher and more importantly to him, his friend. He thought about telling her what he was about to do but he knew that her duty to her country was felt so deeply in her that she might kill him on the spot. Instead he placed his hands on her shoulders, stared intensely into her pale blue eyes, then walked past her out into the dim corridor that led to the square. The noise became deafening as he neared the entrance to the square. The fear inside of him weakened his knees to the point that they suddenly gave out and he slumped against the wall. With his head in his hands he said a silent prayer to the Goddess Viscene, pushed himself off the wall, squared his shoulders and then proceeded out into the sunlight. The roar of the crowd when he appeared almost knocked Iseldar off his feet. The people made a path for him that led to the center of the square where his father was standing. The crowd’s cheers rose to an even more frenzied pitch and the air itself seemed to smell of impending violence. Ravar drew his sword as did Iseldar when he had cleared the crowd. Ravar looked proudly on his son, knowing that this was his end. He had bested three sons already but he wouldn’t have to kill a fourth. He was too old, too tired. Ravar would fight with all he had to make sure that his son was worthy to wear the crown, but he knew that now on his best days he couldn’t defeat Iseldar. Iseldar’s father began to walk in a slow circle which Iseldar mimicked step for step. Iseldar watched his father with great sadness. He knew the pain that had come to him when he had been forced to kill his other sons when they had come of age and were forced to battle for the crown. Iseldar knew that by killing his father he would be releasing him of that pain. Iseldar also knew though that if he killed his father this day, he would be killing one of his own sons someday. Ravar stopped circling and stood looking curiously at Iseldar. He knew something was wrong. The crowd began to quiet sensing something was amiss also since there had been no clash of steel, no battle cries and no roars of triumph. Everything grew very still and then Iseldar raised his sword. It was a perfectly crafted weapon. The steel of the blade glittered brilliantly in the sun. Iseldar pointed the blade directly at his father’s heart. The crowd hushed in anticipation, a calm before the violent storm that they knew was about to erupt between king and prince, father and son. Then Iseldar dropped the sword. The silence that followed the blade clanging to the ground surrounded Iseldar and his father; it was so heavy that it was an awesome thing to hear. Never had Iseldar heard a silence that awful. As the last echoes of his sword clashing with the stones of the legendary square faded to take to their immortal place in history, Iseldar felt the full weight of the tradition that he had broke. For as long as Ravar’s tribe had existed this duel had played out and Ravar had intended to continue it. The leader of the tribe, and now the king would, when his son had reached the age of twenty-five, declare that his son was at an age where he was ready to rule in one of the grandest ceremonies of his son’s life. Ravar had declared, shortly after his final victory in the Unity Wars that the practice would continue. King and prince, father and son, would step into the square at Fortress Viscene and fight to the death. Iseldar closed his eyes in pain when the angry screams of his people replayed themselves over in his ears. The rage and shame that had been on Ravar’s face, the pain of witnessing Simone being sentenced to the same exile as he were things that Iseldar knew would haunt him for the rest of his days. He had to stop it though, stop the madness and stop the idiotic brutality demanded by his people who were so strong yet followed a code so hollow. Iseldar wiped the back of his hand across his eyes as a few tears escaped them. The damn Code of Viscene. Iseldar spat as he looked up into the sky and found Viscene’s constellation. For countless generations fathers had been killing sons and sons had been killing fathers because she had said it should be so. To be a king you had to be able to do whatever it took. You proved it by killing your own father or son because that meant that you cared so much for your kingdom that you’d sacrifice anything for it. Isledar reached into his coat and took out his flask of cheap wine. He raised it in mock salute to the Goddesses’ starry image and then took a liberal swallow. Iseldar thought, as he looked into the sky at her heavenly visage, that Viscene’s code had made her people’s grit and raw toughness unequaled anywhere in the world. Bitterly he thought that it had also made them more soulless than anywhere else in the world as well. “Simone,” Iseldar whispered softly. Iseldar knew that she had heard him, that she was now awake, even as her breathing remained steady. She was the best there was. She had taught him everything he knew which is why she was sharing in his banishment. Simone rolled onto her back and extricated herself from her blankets. There was only the light of the night sky to see by but Iseldar thought that she actually shot a glance in his direction. Of course it could have just been wishful thinking, he thought. Either way he was tired and no sooner had slid beneath his own blankets than did sleep, as well as the dreams of his chosen failure, come to him. Iseldar was woken by Simone well before the sun had come up. She hadn’t said anything to him, instead she had snuck on him like only someone with her immense skill and training could do and lightly brushed the side of his face the bottom of her boot. Iseldar knew the pain she was in, knew the rage that was inside her needed an outlet, but wiping her boot on the face of the man who should be her king was going too far. He gripped her ankle faster than she could pull away but didn’t bring her to the ground. Instead he stared hard up into her face. Though it was hidden from his view by the dark, he knew they were looking into each other’s eyes and he knew that she could see the look of anger in his. “You can hate me, you can loath me, you can want me dead, you can even try to kill me but you will not wipe your feet on the face of your Prince!” The anger in his voice surprised even him. For a moment he thought of pulling her ankle until she landed on her backside but instead roughly shoved her foot away from him. His anger disappeared as quickly as it had arrived and a part of him felt ashamed at having been so mad. He felt that he almost deserved to be a doormat for Simone after what he had caused her, but the generations of royal and warrior blood coursing through his veins would never permit someone to treat him in such a fashion. They packed their gear in what had become the accustomed silence between them and started off towards God’s Teeth. Iseldar didn’t bother to glance behind them until the sun came up enough to cause their shadows to elongate a little before them. He was still looking to see if he could catch even a glimpse of the men following them but they were nowhere to be seen. “It’s a testament to you my friend that the soldiers that you’ve trained are so superb that not neither I, nor you I think, can detect them.” Simone continued to walk her steady pace a few feet in front of Iseldar without turning her head in the slightest to acknowledge that he had spoken. They walked until the sun had reached almost midday and Simone stopped for a quick meal of leftover rabbit and a small piece of bread. Iseldar didn’t eat. Instead he put his back to the mountains and stared back in the direction of his homeland, across the great plains, with their tall grass, that led to the dense forests which separated him from his kingdom. With the gamut of emotions, ranging from regret to pride for what he had done, roiling within him, Iseldar decided that he needed a stiff drink more than food. Simone was staring at God’s Teeth with her back to him when he reached around behind him, into a pouch that he had sewn himself into his sleeping gear. He never liked his men to see him drink the hard liquor known as Faedill because he had forbidden them from imbibing it completely. Faedill had a tendency to creep up on those that drank it and while a few quick shots now might only make you feel a bit funny, it was the next few shots down the gullet that you wouldn’t feel until a few hours later, when you were fighting monsters visible only to you in the middle of the street. Consequently, a tavern owner was only allowed to have a certain amount of Faedill on their premises and if there was an incident caused by the imbibing of too much Faedill the owner was the one held responsible first, the drunkard second. Iseldar was the prince though at least he used to be he thought bitterly, so he had special rights. He opened the bottle and sipped just the tiniest bit before replacing it back in its pouch. Simone stood shortly after finishing her meal and began walking again. Iseldar stared back at what used to be his kingdom, then pulled out the bottle once more and took a long slug of the Faedill. He vowed silently that he would return to rule his kingdom one day, vowed never to look upon it again unless he was leading an army to take back what was his, and then stood up a bit unsteadily. A few hours later, Iseldar and Simone approached the mountain and the ground beneath their feet became little more than granite with only the hardiest of weeds sprouting in patches. The sun, though not yet set, had sunk enough in the sky behind some of the more closely bunched together spires of God’s teeth and its direct light was no longer visible. Which for Iseldar was a very good thing, the direct light causing him pain because he was now drunk. As Iseldar tried to walk a straight line and hide his inebriation he was sure his present state of drunkenness was not his fault. He took another little sip of the Faedill, not even bothering to try to hide what he was drinking anymore, and decided that this was all Simone’s fault. If she would just speak to him, just say a few words to him, yell at him, scream at him, try to kill him, anything he wouldn’t be drunk. Instead his closest friend and confidant chose to keep silent. “You should know, chish is your fault too,” the words slurred and Iseldar found himself surprised that they did because they sounded so concise in his head. Simone stopped so fast that if Iseldar had been walking in a straight line he might have walked right into her. Instead he stumbled a good 5 feet past her before he noticed that she had stopped. He turned around slowly to face her and brought the Faedill to his lips once more. He took a long swallow and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You trained me to be all virtuosss and right frosh wrong and all that stuff,” Iseldar swayed slightly, before righting himself enough to offer the bottle to Simone. “If you hadn’t been all like, ‘Doo the risht thing no matt---no matter how hard isht is then I wouldn’t ev not done what I didn’t do, you know.” Iseldar continued to hold the bottle in Simone’s direction while to his eyes she was losing the shape of herself, looking as if she was formed almost of water suddenly and swimming before his eyes. She also looked angrier than he had ever seen her. So he said to her, “You look sho angry and not all that sholid and I think you could use a drink to lighten hup and maybe get yourshelf together.” Simone took a few fury filled steps toward him and then Iseldar found himself on his back staring up at the sky. Simone stepped into his line of sight, blocking out the darkening sky but Iseldar could still see well enough to see her hand grip her dagger. He half hoped she would pull it from her sheath and drive it into his heart. It would be better than having to spend the rest of his life knowing that she reviled him. Instead she left him lying on the ground and began to set up a camp for the night. Iseldar tried to sit up to help her and suggest that here, out in the open, might not be the best place to set up camp for the evening but his elbows gave way beneath him and he fell back to the ground. He stared up into the sky and watched as the first diamonds of the night began to appear.
He watched them swim through his alcohol induced vision, smelled the burning of
twigs as Simone managed to light a meager fire. He thought about the last time
that he had traveled Latia’s Pass without his Elite Guard. Iseldar’s mind
drifted to that time, back to that place that had made his father so proud, just
as he drifted off to sleep.
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