Soul Fire

Soul Fire - Chapter 1

The lands of Asillia – present day.

The sound of youthful laughter took flight. Thundering hooves pounded the ground, showering clods of soil into the air. One brother chased the other across the sun-drenched Asillian plains. It was their playground - the lands which would one day belong to them. Only the glaring light flashing from the polished armor of the Royal Guards distracted the boys, reminding them that they were never alone, even at play.

"You cannot catch me, Ellishan!"

The words rang true. The elder prince was the more capable rider. Horse and rider moved as one. Dathion weaved and drove his horse at breathtaking speed. Behind him raced his younger brother, Ellishan, unwilling to surrender the chase.

Dathion's deeper connection with his horse was not his only advantage, for his stallion was the finest steed in the Asillian stables. Dathion rode Asheron - the horse of the King. His magnificent mount was reared by the Horse Stewards of Asillia, the greatest breeders in the world.

All who shared the royal bloodline could whisper - giving barely audible words of command that joined horse and rider in a way no training could reproduce. The sages rumored the skill was magic taught by the Elves from the lost city of Ascalon. It was a fine gift to reward men who had fought bravely in ancient wars.

All except one.

Despite his royal blood, the gift eluded Ellishan. He would never match his older brother without it.

Beyond the two princes - a grand backdrop to their games - their capital shone from the vast expanse of the Asillian plains. The palace rose in a series of magnificent, white spires, high above the endless, green sea of the surrounding grasslands. The ramparts of the palace citadel were edged with marble and the spires crowned with gold. The tallest of the structures - four equidistant towers - dared to reach for the clouds from the corners of the fortress.

Home to the lords of the realm, it perched atop a natural rise, the western and southern borders of its span falling away into natural cliffs the height of a score of men. Its walls gleamed with the milky-white stone mined deep within the bowels of Dwarvern caverns. It was stronger than granite, with a crystalline appearance. Adamant the Asillians named the rock. Quartzite was the name given by the Dwarves.

Surrounding the city, grassy plains stretched to the horizon, the ideal home for the vast herds of horses which roamed under Asillian watch. Dathion dared to dream of the freedom to ride the length and breadth of his lands. Together, he and Asheron would be cousins to the wind, his younger brother Ellishan one of the few permitted to ride with them. Carried by fate, unshackled from their duties, they would be free - nothing would restrain—

Dathion jolted, his heart racing and blood pounding in his ears.

"Aeldeth," he breathed.

Between heartbeats, Asheron twisted aside. Muscles strained and sinew stretched. Horse and rider changed direction with an agility that no pairing of man and beast should possess. Ellishan flashed past, hand reaching, a hair's breadth from Dathion's face. Dathion's instructor had always warned his students to keep their minds clear in battle. His wayward daydream served as a reminder that he still had much to learn.

In a spray of grass and dirt, he brought Asheron up hard, vaulting to the ground with a laugh. Ellishan was hot on his heels. The younger brother had barely swung his feet from the stirrups before Dathion leaped at him, bearing him to the ground. The brothers rolled end over end down a low grassy hillock, tumbling in an exhausted heap at the base. Dathion twisted on top of his brother, pinning his limbs, one hand free to tousle his hair.