Forging of a Knight

Prologue and Chapter 1 of 14

Forging of a Knight

Hugo Valentin Negron

Copyright © 2012, Hugo Valentin Negron

Cover illustration by Lora Lee, www.loraart.com

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ISBN 978-1-105-50634-5

Prologue…

Bloody red was the fading sun. Mists of icy cotton flowed over the jagged peaks and splintered cracks of Ruin Canyon. Streaks of purple and pinkish blues blanketed the sky, outlining the Ruin with a visionary beauty. This beauty was usually denied; the canyon was a savage gouge, an ugly rift in the surrounding flatlands, a contrast of muddy browns and ugly grays. Few living beings dared enter the Ruin, for there was nothing offered for respite. Blasted vegetation striving for light; scampering beetles; the occasional predatory bird observing the dry wasteland disappointedly for prey; a mottled lizard that looked more like rock than reptile. These were the inhabitants of Ruin Canyon.

And yet today, there were other creatures in the Ruin. Intruders had come despite the canyon’s stark defiance to those seeking entry. Weathered and tired men, in organized regiment, trudged inwards. With the clink of hauberk and the crack of knee-top they climbed and scampered, slipping and scrambling, through the ragged Ruin. Wearily, they made camp, torn standards flapping fiercely against the wind. They had come with purpose, and they had come with dread. Foes long pursued had escaped into the canyon seeking refuge, a final stand against hated pursuers. The soldiers knew this and understood the final wrath of a cornered beast was soon to be upon them. Many years of war had led them to this time, and to this appointed place.

The night afforded as few comforts as had the day. Screaming winds increased their wail, as frightened horses circled wildly in hastily constructed pens. From the blazing heat of the daytime march came the freezing cold of the dark. Men grown used to hardship from years of campaigning huddled tightly ‘round weakening fires, mumbling about evil legends and curses for which the Ruin was well known.

“It’s an accursed place. Mark my words, you who sit with me this night: no good will come of this,” said one grizzled veteran.

Despite the fears that came with the moon, the camp eventually grew calm, and those who had not slept for many days felt some ease at last. With the awakening of the sky, the camp slowly sprung back to life. Horses whinnied their protests as heavy packs were placed upon their heaving backs. The torn flags that still proudly carried the symbols of the Turinthian/Bagdan/Medlissian alliance, the First Kingdoms, were reunited with their bearers. Makeshift shelters were quickly dismantled. Supply wagons that had proven more hindrance than help getting through the razor sharp rocks and sloping walls of the Ruin were hastily repaired and secured. As the soldiers once again grouped into their companies, one man observed them from afar.

He had slept away from the encampment upon an outcropping above. As an outlying sentry, he had been one of many guarding the sleeping men below. He had tended the rising sun, and with it, the play of light upon the canyon that had accompanied it. Though grim from the cold night before, the returning day warmed him. The feeling was brief, however. They had traveled far, and winter would beset them on their return trip home. He sighed and rose to his full height. Eucradus pulled at the beard that had grown long during his travels. How his wife would have laughed at his appearance, a wearied figure grown woolly with age. He could not deny it. His cloak was stained and faded. His breastplate dented and soiled. His blue eyes, once strong, had now turned weak and sad. The years away from safe lands, from the gleaming white towers of Turinthia’s home state to its flowered ports scented with rose and lavender, seemed more dream now than reality. And yet, with the wars that had taken every civilized nation to task, with the bloodshed and loss, the horrors and suffering endured, how long had it really been since any land had been safe? How long truly? And would this really be its final end?