Chronicles of Mandre

Hello! Welcome to my newest story! Hopefully you like it, I've had the idea for it since 2011 and have spent A LOT of time with planning as I want to create a big fantasy world that I can host more than one story in. This is the first chapter of the initial idea, I hope you like it!

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Prologue - What's Going On?

The sun was kissing the sandy horizon when my city finally came into view. I was stepping heavily, sturdy leather boots slipping in the sand and a dessert deer slung over my shoulder, its wide, flat hoofs digging into the small of my back. They weren’t large animals, hardly bigger than a dog, but their meat was extremely filling and would feed my brother, father and I for the next few weeks. I rubbed my hand over my forehead and pushed a strand of black hair behind my ear, huffing with relief as my feet finally hit the road that joined the two main districts of my city. I paused where I was, shielded from view by a house and pulled my cloak around, re-positioning it so that it covered my bow and quiver. Once I was sure that I appeared weapon free I trudged forward into the street, smiling and nodding at those I knew and eyeing the guards cautiously whenever I passed them.

I sighed happily and allowed my shoulders to relax once my home came into view. It was a simple thing, sandstone like every other house, a wooden roof and small chimney. I paused in my steps as my gaze fell on the front door. A dog was perched there, watching the street and watching carefully, as though it was a guard dog. I frowned, glancing around as I wondered whose it could be. The small street that my house faced onto was suspiciously quiet, barely anyone to be seen. It was only mid afternoon, not nearly close to curfew. Shrugging mentally I pushed down the feeling of suspicion and approached the dog. Its eyes turned on me as I moved closer and it began to bark, its shaggy ears perking forward. I paused for a moment but the dog made no move to attack so I continued, reaching my door.

The handle was yanked open before I even had a chance to touch the wooden knob. My brother Kadir peered down at me, tanned face brightening in his relief.

"Linna! Thank the Gods!" He exclaimed, tugging me inside and closing the door quickly. I eyed the small sitting room suspiciously, noticing a pile of belongings beside the door. The glinting of a blade caught my eye.

"What's going on?!" I demanded, letting him take the deer from me and following him to the tiny kitchen. I hide my bow and arrows in the pantry, behind a large sack of coarsely ground flour. Kadir dumped the animal on the counter before turning back to me.

"A traveller was found on the outskirts of town early this morning. A man brought him to father, hoping he could help him. He's been in the clinic with him all day, trying to treat his wounds. It looks like one of the Sand Reapers got him. The dogs his." He said, retrieving a knife as he turned to gut  and strip the skin from my kill. I suppressed a shudder at the thought of the Reapers, horrible monsters twice the size of a human, a mix between a reptile and insect with four legs and pincers like a scorpion.

"Does father think he can save him?" I asked quietly, unwinding my cloak and toeing off my boots. My hair had been braided back and mostly untouched for three days. It felt stiff and dirty as I let it down before promptly pushing it into a bun. I would have to visit the hot springs tomorrow.

Kadir shrugged, focusing on his work as he slid a wicked blade down the animals stomach, the skin parting easily in its wake. Pulling a face at the blood I turned away and walked through the house, the floor boards rough but cool on my bare feet.

Approaching fathers clinic door I knocked before entering, peering in curiously. Father was at the far end, rinsing his hands in a basin. In the centre a young man was stretched on the examination table, unconscious. His torso was bare and I could see were stitches held various wounds closed. The thing that caught my attention the most however was his skin tone. It was pale, sun-burnt red in places, but certainly too pale for any native of the Deserts of Narcel. Father turned and smiled gently at me, wiping his hands n a scrap of cloth. 

"What's going on?" I asked again, far less demanding this time.

"We have a visitor." He replied simply. He looked tired, bags under his eyes and deep lines around his mouth. "A visitor from Zahnova. It seems he came over the mountains to look for my aid." He replied easily, sitting on a tall stool. I frowned, tilting my head at him.

"But who is he?" I questioned, confused.

"My dear Linna." My father sighed, gracing me with a patient smile. "He is a freedom fighter."