The Aielind Chronicles: Journey

Chapter Three: Edrahil

Edrahil looked down at his stubby hands. They were sweaty and shaking. 'I can't do this. I'm just a stable boy.', The young Elf boy said to himself. Edrahil's heart began to race, his face felt numb, and his mouth felt like it someone had stuffed with wool. 'There's only one way out. I have to run away.' Edrahil, ran to his room in the stables and prepared for his late night departure.

The young Elf's room was small. There wasn't much to it, but for Edrahil, it was enough. The dirt floor crackled beneath his feet. Briskly he turned on the lamp that hung at the center of the room.

In the room there was a small bed in the corner. Next to the bed was a nightstand and a small dresser. On the opposite wall hung Edrahil's most prized possession. It was a sword his father had given him. He took the blade off the wall and pulled it from it's scabbard. The metal gleamed in the lamp light. On the blade was etched the code of the High Clan Knights.

Honesty, Respect, Virtue, Patience, and Temperance

Edrahil ran his fingers across the words. He recalled a time when he was a boy. His father, Braa'Ven, was the Chief's greatest and most formidable Knight. He and many other knights were riding off to push back the Wild Clan from invading their territory.

The sword was a gift he had given Edrahil before he left. When his father handed him that blade, it had been the happiest moment in his life. But, what was once a sweet memory between father and son, became a sour recollection in the young Elfs mind.

Edrahil could still hear the last words his father had ever said to him. Even after all these years, they still rung in his head, as if it they had just been uttered only hours ago. "Here lad." Braa'Ven had said, "Keep this safe. When I get back, I'll teach you to fight like a true soldier."

Edrahil played the memory in his mind. His father saddled his Lycan, and began to make his way towards the castle gate. Edrahil followed behind, wanting to savor every last second he had left with his father. Once he reached the gate, Edrahil stopped. A trickle of fear crept in his heart. Silently he said a prayer, asking the Goddess to please bring his father home safely.

Edrahil stood at the gate, watching as his father and the rest of the knights rode off. Their shinning armor hung to them and glistened in the morning dawn, casting shimmering rainbows amongst the cobblestone streets as they faded into the distance.

Every morning and every evening, with his sword at his side, Edrahil waited eagerly for his father to return. Day after day without fail, the young Elf would be at the gate, gazing into the distance patiently waiting.

After a month of forbearance, Edrahil finally got his wish. Upon the backs of their Lycans came the knights. Edrahil scanned the faces of every knight that approached. Many were bruised, cut up and bloody. Their once glorious armor dented, slashed and covered in dirt and and blood. The metal that was once so alluring and dazzling to the eye, had lost its luster.

Edrahil continued looking for his father. Every soldier who passed him looked tired and worn down. Not one met his eye. In fact it seems as if they were all trying to avoid his gaze. A sense of dread wrapped around his very being. As if the Reaper of Dagmar had reached into Edrahil's chest and wrapped his hand around his very sole, and began to give it a firm squeeze. It was then that Edrahil saw his father lying on cart a pulled by Fawcetts. The knights arms folded over his chest, clasping a sword between both hands.

KNOCK KNOCK

The sudden sound pulled Edrahil from his memory. He sat there wondering just how long he had been reminiscing.

The sound came again. KNOCK KNOCK

"Come in." The door creaked open. Edrahil saw Dias standing at threshold. The sight of his childhood friend brought a slight smile to his face. But he could tell from her countenance that something was off. She seemed shaken. Almost, scared. It was very unlike her to say the least, but Edrahil just attributed it to her concern for her sister Nia.

Edrahil saw Dias staring that the blade resting in his hands. "Thinking about your father?" The princess asked, sitting next to her friend.

"Umm...no. Just getting ready for tomorrow." he lied. Edrahil sheathed his sword and hung it back on the wall. "I'm sorry you weren't chosen to go. You really would have been the best choice."

The Princess enter the room. She wore a long silk gown that reached right above her ankles. The straps on her shoulders were thin, leaving her shoulders almost entirely bare. Quietly she sat next to Edrahil on his bed and sighed deeply. "No, father was right. You were the best choice to aid Nia's rescue." She said while gently setting her head on Edrahils shoulder.

Edrahil had never seen his friend seem so delicate and vulnerable. Dias was usually calm, smiling and even a bit abrasive at times. This was something new to him. The scent of wild flowers lingered on her like dew in the morning grass. Her blonde hair cascaded down his shoulder.

"I just...I just miss her so much." Edrahil looked over and saw tears running down the cheeks of his childhood friend. Silently he reached over and wiped them with his thumb.

Something began to surge within him He turned and took Dias tenderly by the shoulders. "I swear upon my life, and upon my fathers grave. I will find her Dias. I will find Nia." The odd thing was, he meant it. Just a short time ago he was ready to run away and never return. It was then he realized what the feeling spreading within him was. It was courage, love, strength, and determination. "I will find her." He repeated again.

Just as those words had escaped his lips, the cities alarm bells began to ring.