Scrap - Rayek the Warmaster

This actually started as a NaNoWriMo idea, but I clearly didn't get very far.  I do have this one plotted out mostly, but I just haven't found the time or motivation to fill it all in.

Prologue

The Allied Kings had gathered together and every face was grim. They had just finished organizing all the information they had, and by all accounts, the war was not going well. Over the past year, the Dark Queen had been advancing on all of their borders, and with every battle the Allied Kings lost, the more invincible the Dark Queen seemed.

“With Gilgam and Asha fallen, the southern plains are at risk of being overrun,” the King of Harak stated, pointing to a section on the map that rested on a table around which the kings stood.

“Is there nothing that can stop her western conquest?” the King of Zalazar asked, quite frustrated.

“Every battle I've been to, I see no end to their forces. It's almost as if she conjures armies from thin air!” the King of Persh complained.

“Her wizards are also very powerful. It's a shame we lost most of ours at Orleece,” the King of Harak added.

A grim silence fell upon all the kings around the table. It was not the first of that evening.

“Is there nothing we can do?” the King of Zalazar asked again, his hands stretched out beside him in exhausted desperation.

“I know that monk in Neverim seems to be onto something,” the King of Yondora casually mentioned.

“But that seems like a fool's errand, chasing after such a legend!” the King of Zalazar said, “It would take a miracle for that to work.”

“We could use a miracle,” the King of Harak admitted, pursing his lips afterward. A few other kings nodded.

“Well, for now, let's make use of what we have,” the King of Vant said, standing at the head of the table. “We know that she is gathering forces against Calamis. It will be up to you now to hold them at bay.” He pointed a hand at a stern, rough-looking king.

“Calamis will not fall as long as I direct its defenses!” the King of Calamis stated. He pounded his fist against his breastplate.

“Similar boasts have been made before, and those kings have since been lost,” Harak warned. “You know we started this alliance with sixteen kings. After losing Gilgam, we're down to seven.”

“Speaking of which, where is the King of Foth?” the King of Yondora asked.

“He's been working with the wizards in the North Taratok Mountains to try and support our armies. I understand that negotiations have been strained, for the moment, but he's still working with them,” the King of Vant answered.

“Then I suppose we won't have them for Calamis,” the King of Harak sighed. He then turned to the King of Calamis and asked, “What do you need from us?”

“Nothing,” the King of Calamis answered succinctly. “The high-walls of Calamis are enough to withstand anything the Dark Queen throws at us!”

Chapter 1

The sounds of metal clashing against metal filled the forest as the two figures continued to fight, their swords occasionally flashing as they caught a glimpse of sunlight from between the shadows of the leaves. One of them was a young man with a refreshing face and blond hair, the other a young woman with a sharp look and long black hair. Both were wearing their regular clothes, brown tunics with grey leggings and sturdy boots, as they practiced their fighting skills.

Tyrus, the young man, was easily winning, but he wasn’t trying that hard, enjoying the fight more than practicing his techniques like he was supposed to be, and his opponent wasn’t any different. Bethica wasn’t great with a sword, but she could hold her own if she needed to. At the moment, though, she was playing as much as Tyrus was. She thrust her sword at him, not to kill, but cut some of his hair, which was the original challenge.

“Still not enough, B! You can’t even cut a single strand!” Tyrus playfully shouted, calling Bethica by the nickname he gave her when they were children.

“Well, if you held still, I’d be able to cut it all off!” Bethica taunted back, and she lunged again. Tyrus easily blocked her attack, knocking her sword away. She tried again, but again, his blade intervened her sword’s path. Their hilts locked for a moment, but Tyrus easily pushed her off, sending her back more than a few steps.

“Alright,” Bethica muttered after regaining her balance. She charged forward again, holding her sword high before bringing it down on Tyrus’s head, but he simply blocked the attack, his sword perpendicular to hers. Then, with her free hand, she pointed two fingers at Tyrus’s right boot, and a spark of light jumped from her fingers to the targeted foot.

“What?” Tyrus blurted, his smile suddenly fading. Then he felt an unnatural, but familiar, feeling as his foot was suddenly lifted into the air, throwing Tyrus off balance. He landed on his back onto the soft forest dirt, and when he opened his eyes, Bethica had stabbed her sword right next to his head, making him jump. Bethica then crouched down and picked up a few strands of cut hair.

“See? Not so hard,” she teased, showing the blonde strands for Tyrus to see.

“You cheated!” he cried, but he smiled at the same time. He got up just enough to push Bethica over onto her backside. She grimaced as she landed, then got her revenge by punching him in the leg. This started of sequence of hitting and poking that went back and forth for several moments before the two of them broke down into laughter. When they finally could catch their breath, they were lying on the backs, looking up at the forest canopy.

“Want to go another round?” Tyrus asked.

Bethica was about to respond when they both heard someone approaching. They quickly got to their feet and picked up their swords. However, when they realized it was just one of the pages they knew, they simply put their swords in the sheaths at their waists.

“What is it, Hren?” Tyrus casually asked.

Hren was breathing hard, his body bend over and his hands on his knees. He clearly had ran from the monastery where all them lived to find them. “Master Omira is calling for you,” he finally breathed out after a moment.

“Master?” Bethica wondered out loud. “But it isn’t time for our lessons yet. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know; he didn’t tell me,” Hren responded, still breathing hard. “He just wants to talk to both you. He said it was urgent.”

“Well, we better get going. We don’t want to keep Master waiting,” Tyrus said.

“Right,” Bethica agreed.

Quickly, they grabbed their blue cloaks that they had hung on a tree branch, wrapped them around their shoulders, and followed Hren back up the worn path. Tyrus and Bethica weren’t particularly far from the monastery, so within a few minutes, they were back on the main road and walking up the front steps. Hren asked another page where Master Omira was and then directed the two to the study where he was waiting for them. Once they reached the door, Hren knocked on it.

“Come in,” an old voice said from within the room.

Hren then opened the door and said, “Here they are, sir.” Tyrus and Bethica then walked into the study.

Master Omira’s study was a somewhat large room, with more than a dozen bookcases lining the walls. In the middle of the room was a large table surrounded by chairs where the two had spent many hours learning from the Master, and it was there the Master currently sat, wearing his priestly brown robes and surrounded by stacks of books and papers. When he looked up and saw the pair, he smiled.

“Ah, finally,” he said, then turned to Hren. “Thank you for finding them. You can go back to your duties.”

“Yes, sir,” Hren answered from the hall. He shut the door and his footsteps could be heard fading off into the monastery.

“Was there something you needed, Master? Hren said it was urgent,” Tyrus said, pulling his cloak off of his shoulders. Bethica took off hers as well.

“Yes, yes, but sit down. This will take some explaining.” Omira gestured to the two chairs opposite him. When they both had sat down, Omira was rubbing the large bald spot on the top of his head, a nervous tick of his and one that Tyrus had been seeing more often lately.

“As you know, our King of Yondera has been fighting the Dark Queen with the other Allied Kings for several years now. I’ve just gotten word that Gilgam has just fallen.”

Bethica gasped a little, putting a hand over her mouth. “They just won’t stop,” she said.

Omira shook his head. “No, they won’t. We really can’t afford to lose too much more.”

“I agree, Master, but why are you telling us this?” Tyrus asked.

“Because I think I might have found an answer, and I need your help,” Omira answered. Tyrus and Bethica looked at each other in surprise, then turned back to their Master to hear more. When he saw they were ready, he continued. “Now, what do you remember about Rayek the Warmaster?” he asked.

Tyrus blinked hard, trying to remember. “He, uh, was a famous warrior, greatest ever known by some accounts. He defeated thousands of men in wars a long time ago, right?”

Bethica pointed a finger at Tyrus in agreement as she also was remembering. “Yes, during the Wars of Darkness. They say that when the wars were over, he simply disappeared.”

“Not quite,” Omira corrected. He grabbed a book and found a page that he had previously folded the corner of to find more quickly. “I was reading up on the legends and stories, and I think instead he went into hibernation, with the idea that he could be reawakened. Since then, I have been able to get my hands on some records from a monastery up north, and they mention that he built himself a grave to sleep in until he was needed again. They mention having this carved gem that will bring him back to life if you can take it to his resting place. Take a look.”

Omira turned the book around for Tyrus and Bethica, who leaned over to see the page their master had opened it to. There, they saw a large drawing of a well cut gem. Based on the measurements next to the drawing, it seemed to be about the size of a large apple, big enough to fill a person’s hand.

“But he lived over 200 years ago! How could he be still alive?” Bethica asked, sitting back after she looked at the picture.