Independence Day

Brothers,

Happy Independence Day!!! I hope you all enjoyed yourselves on this historical occasion. (And did not get too drunk in celebrating some old guy signing a crinkled parchment....lol, jk jk :)) As you know, I am British, so we did not celebrate the fourth of July. Call me a traitor and red-coat, but GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!!! (lol, I don't even like the royal family, just to show my unpatriotism) Anyways, I am celebrating Independence Day today...but not from another old dude in a crown who peed purple or blue or something in a movie a couple years ago....I am celebrating my independence from: WRITERS' BLOCK!!!!!! I was finally able to write a damn story...all the way through....HALLELUJA!!!! PRAISE THE LORD!!! (seriously) It is the first part of a series I am planning to do....kind of epic fantasy, I guess you could call it. Although, I really am trying to do something special with this series. I really am trying to focus on character and dialogue....two weakpoints in my writing, I think. I really want to focus on who the characters are in my stories now, like make them as believable and somebodies other bodies would wish to be around if they were real...well atleast the goodguys anyways.....:). Also, I am trying to make my dialogue (maybe if i could spell it properly I'd be better at it?) better. I won't say more realistic...because I do realize..especially in this story...my dialogue is very corny and often too dramatic. But this is also the case in LOTR and almost every other fantasy books...so I'm not gonna worry about that...right now....So yeah, see what you peeps think...I hope you like it. Classic buildingsroman; coming of age story...suprising, this is the first story I've ever written that has no action in it...well, relativley no action....ENJOY!!! :)

God Bless
leskald/elscribe......

Amber Eyes
Pink clouds rolled sluggishly above the fortified city of Drulge. Tiled roofs reflected the almost non-existent evening sunlight, their crooked smoke stacks rising up into the imminent night. Cobbled streets spiraled from the gated and walled entrances of the city to the sparkling central keep atop the highest hill in the city. The keep’s obviously unused parapets overlooked the tudor buildings below, casting an ominous shadow on the dwindling crowds of merchants, soldiers, and peasants.
A lone soldier guided his gaunt horse down an unusually quiet street. The horse’s cracked hooves clattered on the weathered stones. When his steed had come to a halt, the red-clad soldier of the Drulge home guard dismounted. Placing his battered helmet under the chain mail on his arm, the dark haired youth gazed ahead of him as half a dozen mounted guards barreled down the street.
The heavily armored soldier in front, a Captain, dismounted smoothly from his bulky steed, and marched up to the young guard.
“Brice- you ready for the battle? I hear the rebel “Darkhammer” have assembled just outside the city. Prince Niamack has even allowed his palace guard to aide us in the coming battle. We are here to collect the wenches on this street for the High knights, so that they will be merry!” announced the captain, his cape billowing in the evening wind. Brice, the young soldier, nodded his head to the captain in acknowledgement.
“I look forward to seeing you at the Battle eve banquet at the palace tonight, Captain Grizbane.” Brice replied; smiling, his icy blue eyes perusing the dismounting soldiers.
The mustached captain nodded his approval. Behind him, his men began to knock on wooden doors, their gauntleted hands slamming on unsuspecting houses. Maidens began to be dragged out, the fear on their faces broadcasting their terror to Brice. A carriage behind the guardsmen’s horses was rolled up to the front. The wenches were piled in, their delicate bodies roughly jumbled into the cramped space.
One fair-headed maiden struggled at the carriage’s steps, slamming her small elbow into the guardsman’s unprotected nose. The red-garmented guard went down, his hand grasping at his face, the pain turning the area a bright shade of red. The wench headed straight for the captain, rage at the injustice evident on her beautiful complexion. Stopping an inch away from Grizbane’s prominent nose, the wench gave him an intense gaze.
Brice watched a few feet away unable to move. The girl, not much older than Brice, spat in the captain’s face. Outraged, the captain slammed his hand into the side of her head, sending her smashing into the cobbled ground.
“Bring me a sword! We will make an example of this one who breaks the Prince’s code!” he spluttered. In defiance, the maiden rose to her feet, the right side of her face bruised and smeared with blood.
“You speak of a code, but what ever happened to the sacred code? The code set down by Niamack’s ancestors, the code of Knighthood. It spoke of chivalry and honor. This is not honor!” By this time the guards were shuffling uneasily in their boots, slightly perturbed by the woman’s speech. “You cowards steal from our families. We barely have enough food down in the streets, while you: the Prince and his so-called knights grow fat on meats from all across the land of Trevorder!” Brice looked at the other knights around him, a touch of shame entering his heart. “The last true knights have been driven away into the wilderness. All that is left is you and the scum you call an army!” she bellowed, the strength in her words ringing out for all present to hear.
Striding over to Brice, the young woman stopped a few feet away. Her amber eyes burned into his cold blue eyes. A fire blazed behind them, giving her the strength to retaliate. Something about them hit Brice, causing him to turn away. Not even in the eyes of the High Knights before they went into battle could match the passion he saw in hers. Something in them pierced his young soul, fighting against ideas and customs that Brice had learned to accept and embrace long ago.
“You- boy, do you think this is worth fighting for? To fight for a kingdom that does this to her people? Who eats herself from the inside? This is tyranny, are you willing to die for it?” her eyes seemed to burn into Brice’s soul, even though he was looking down at the stones below him.
Suddenly, the girl was grabbed from behind. Looking up, Brice watched in numb horror as she was thrown to the street. Brice locked eyes with her unintentionally, as Grizbane placed his foot on her head. A lethal saber hung from his hands, its sharp blade twinkling evilly in the fading sunlight. The depths of her amber eyes tortured Brice’s heart.
Turning in the opposite direction, Brice slowly headed for the Palace. A loud swishing noise from behind caused him to suddenly stop. Silence reigned in the street, save for the exasperated breaths of the Captain. A sick feeling crept into Brice’s stomach. Something seeped into his boots, trickling over both his feet. Looking down, Brice gasped in horror as warm, dark, red blood pooled around his feet, running down the stone gaps. A tear swelled in the boy’s eye, his confusion and helplessness about the situation causing him to close his eyes.
Wishing to be as far away from the bloodstained street as possible, Brice mounted his horse. Coaxing his steed into a gallop, he allowed the tears to freely flow down his cheeks. Not a veteran of many wars, the young Brice began to tilt from side to side in his saddle. His vision blurred rapidly, and soon everything faded into darkness…

Brice awoke with his head immersed in soft pillows. Opening his sore eyelids he took stock of his surroundings. A dimly lit, yet familiar stone chamber greeted him. Tapestries lined the four walls of the smallish chamber, darkening its interior somewhat. A lantern flickered on the wall to his left, and someone hovered above his bedside. The bed Brice was lying on practically filled up the entire room. Focusing his eyes more, Brice spied Grizbane looking down fondly at him.
“You took quite a tumble off your horse there, Brice. I am sorry that you had to see that, but we must make examples of these traitors. They are no better, if not worse, than the rebels we will be engaging in battle tomorrow. Well, enough about that whole incident, the Battle eve banquet is about to begin. Put on your tunic, and meet me at our table.”
Seating himself on his bed, Brice watched as the door closed after Grizbane. Staring at the feudal patterns on its woodwork, he cupped his troubled head in his hands. All his life, he had lived and abided by the code of King Niamack and his father, Dreyakon. He had never once questioned these laws. It was how it was in Trevorder, up until now; Brice had believed that this is the way it had always been. Come to think of it, however, Brice had always felt the presence of emptiness and constraint inside of him. Deep down, he had always known that the way Trevorder was being run was wrong and corrupt. Until now, he could not think of why or how it could be better, but he had heard the maiden’s words: there was such a thing as a chivalrous and honorable code. He had to find; perhaps it would give some hope to this broken land.
Gazing at the tunic, which lay beside him, he sighed. A golden hare was stitched in an eternally unfinished jump over a blue background on the tunic. The hare, the animal of Brice’s house, had been in use by his family, the Hares, for the last one thousand generations, since the Magikan Wars that had supposedly driven out all the Magik in Trevorder. Pulling the tunic over his dark head, Brice slipped into the tunic of Hare.
Sliding a short sword into the sheath on the side of his belt, the future young noble opened the archaic door and stepped out into the hall. Striding rapidly with metallic boots, he entered the cavernous banqueting hall.
Lit by huge, burning lanterns, the hall was almost as bright as a summers’ day. Wooden rafters and beams held the ancient roof up, almost a hundred feet above the narrow wooden tables below.
Seating himself next to Grizbane, Brice chugged a whole tankard of nut-brown ale before the veteran captain had even noticed he was there. Nodding his acknowledgement to his young compatriot, Grizbane was greeted by a faint smile from him.
Soldiers crammed into seats in front of banquet tables. Roughly jostling each other for food and arm space, the Gribble guard drank and ate to their hearts content. The smell of freshly squeezed dragon milk permeated the air, as if someone had cooked bacon and cow’s milk together for too long.
A few meters away, at the head table, sat Prince Niamack himself. Seated on a throne of marble, upon his spotless blonde head rested a bejeweled crown, its emeralds and rubies twinkling in the lantern light. His clothes seemed to whisper extravagant. Expensive silks and leathers seemed to adorn his well-combed features. Next to him sat a morose, yet beautiful wench. She nervously drank from a golden wine glass, her delicate fingers shaking visibly. A manacled chain was tied around her elegant neck. The prince held a rope that was tied equally tightly to the fetters. The prince, older than Brice by only one year, gripped the rope fiercely, his ringed fingers pulling the girl towards him. Forcing the young woman to kiss him, the prince smiled maliciously. Brice looked to the wench, and like with the other girl, their eyes locked.
The faded green pupils of her eyes gazed across the well -lit room. Seemingly broken, and without hope, they seemed to scream exhaustion and death. It seemed as if the prince had ripped out all will from the girl. A sick feeling rose up in Brice, as he noticed that he had seen this girl around the city only several weeks ago.
Glancing down at the pork and peas on his silver plate below him, a great sadness and guilt overwhelmed the boy. Grizbane placed a sharp, but battered, fork in Brice’s hand, patting him on the back.
“Would you prefer some forest gnome stew?” asked the captain, his face a picture of genuine worry. Turning his tortured features towards the older man, Brice slammed his fist down on the table, causing many of the guards and nobleman to turn, startled, in their direction.
Rushing to his feet, Brice pushed his stool over. It made a hauntingly loud noise as it smashed to splinters on the tiled floor. Even the prince looked up from his half-finished steak, the sound was so great. Shocked faces followed the enraged Brice out the room. Soon only the heavy clattering of his steel-capped boots could be heard of Brice Hare.
Grizbane, slightly confused and extremely flustered, rushed out the banquet hall. Watching with a bemused eye, the prince turned to the assembled around him, and said, in a spiteful voice,
“There goes the tortoise, giving chase to the hare!” to a chorus of raucous, and highly forced laughing. The wench tied to the prince smiled faintly also, but not because of the quip. Her friend would not have died in vain today…

Brice stormed down the hallway amidst a volley of questions and confusions racing through his brain like bloodhounds on the hunt. Why had he lost his temper in the prince’s presence? What had torn his heart apart when he gazed into the dullness of the eyes of that wench? How could he find the sacred code that had driven the other wench to martyr herself for its ideals?
Just a day earlier, life had seemed so simple to Brice. Serve your king, uphold your family’s honor, kill anyone that disagreed even slightly with these two, and eventually become a revered noble in the king’s court. That was before Brice had learned about the sacred code. That was before Brice had gazed into those fathomless eyes.
A noise behind him caused the young man to turn around. Grizbane turned a corner of the hallway, his cape hanging from his broad shoulders.
“What has gotten into you? You haven’t seemed the same since that wench was executed. Do not fret over such ideologies. The only things that exist in Trevorder, which are worth fighting for, are the King and his son!!!” he decreed. His blind devotion caused the level of disgust on Brice’s face to rise.
“Who are they? All my life I have been taught that they are here, sent by the Gods to protect us! Haven’t you looked around lately, Grizbane? This place is full of tyrannies and injustices! It has even gripped you; you kill in the name of your so-called just king, so that his palace brat of a son can sleep with wenches to celebrate a victory that hasn’t even been decided yet! To celebrate a battle he won’t even be fighting in! You served under my father. It seems you have lost your honor! While we, the nobles and knights, grow fat on the food that was grown by our peasants, they starve. That is why they are fighting back! That is why I must leave. I must find what this code she spoke of is, how I can fight against this tyranny and oppression. I am sorry, Grizbane, you have treated me well, but I must go- I have a purpose- and I must fulfill it. You may accompany me if you wish!” said Brice, his voice moderated and inspired by a passion that now bubbled up within his belly.
“Brice, do not throw away your nobility like this! The house of the Hare has lasted for over millennia. Your father and mother both died defending you! You are the heir of Hare! Do not let down Lord and Lady Hare like this! You’re right, you do have a purpose- to serve the land of Trevorder and her king!” retaliated Grizbane, his mustache bristling with indignation.
“The code is not dead. The code lived on in that innocent girl you killed today, and now she has passed it on to me. When she looked into my eyes, I saw the world clearly for the first time in my life! I never want to go back to the way I was, Grizbane. I am serving my family, and Trevorder, Grizbane. I know my father and mother would be proud of me now, I finally see the truth, and will fight for it for the rest of my life. If you want to stop me from leaving this city, you will have to kill me!” said Brice, his voice marked with truth and defiance. Grizbane took several steps back, his face a mask of horror and dismay. He knew that he could not argue with the boy, he had seen that same look in Lord Hare’s eyes the last day he had seen Grizbane, the last day he had been a Lieutenant under the Lord’s command…
“I am in no position to stop you Brice. I hope to see you again someday, lad. You may take my stallion; he is quicker and stronger than your horse. Be careful, especially these next few days, you know how the prince deals with defectors. I will try to hold him off at least until after tomorrow’s battle. It is too late for me to change my ways, lad, but it may not be for you.” said the captain, putting his arms around the boy. The boy smiled, but soon the smile faded as he glimpsed dried blood on Grizbane’s boots. Bowing, the boy ran off to the stables.
As he galloped down the streets of Drulge, Brice felt free and truly alive. Smiling, he realized that he had no idea where he was headed. It did not matter, however, he soon formulated a plan. He would go to the nearest city tavern and make inquiries on how that girl knew about the old code and the Echo. He could feel a new chance of hope and honor dawning in the land of Trevorder. Too long had her peoples suffered from the unrighteous tyranny of the King and his son. Brice had to find a way to help liberate them, and to bring them out of this dark age that had reigned in Trevorder for the last fifty years.
Suddenly realizing that the fork from the banquet hall was still firmly gripped in his sweaty palm, the heir of Hare let it fall to the ground. The sharp instrument fell and pierced a crevice in the road. The fork quivered for a few seconds. Above Brice and a muscular warhorse galloped towards the bright and promising dawn. Surely, Brice would never forget those amber eyes…