Spirit Fire - Amos

Prologue

Dareth, Meridia

The king sat at his throne, awaiting his visitor. It had been at least an hour already, and twilight was approaching. He looked out the giant arched limestone windows to the left. The last rays of sunlight rising against the opposite wall of the throne room. The windows had no glass.

     Two guards, stationed ahead of him, shuffled in their places. On the other side of the large red wooden doors were two more guards. The doors were heavy enough to withstand a battering ram to a certain degree, but the king still felt uneasy, as if something might blast through.

     He stood up, adjusted his white fur cape, which dragged along the polished stone floors, and walked to the edge of an open window. A slight breeze drifted through. He rested his hands on the ledge and gazed outside.

     The expanse held a glorious sight. The sun hanging just above the horizon, the clouds catching it on one side, appearing bright and golden, where the sides facing away were gray, red and purple. The fields below were bright in a long stretch of green and yellow.

     He walked across the symmetrical throne room to look out the other windows. The moon was rising on the horizon; catching the sun's light and reflecting it back silver, giving the clouds on this side an almost metal look, contrasting against the gold. The land dark, but sparkling with hints of white and silver.

     Refreshed, the king slowly returned to sit on his throne, looking at the usual display of hanging tapestries with false admiration as he passed them.

     Almost simultaneously, a rumbling bang at the doors sounded as he sat, startling him. Two more bangs shook the throne room before the king called for the guards to open the doors.

     Impatiently, the king watched the large, heavy doors slowly open, revealing a man in furs followed by another pair of guards.

     Four at the doors, two behind the man, six in total. The king counted to himself.

     The guards brought the man halfway through the throne room then stopped, awaiting orders. The man only stood there, looking down at the floor.

     He wore a cloak and hood, made from the furs of a bear, draping close to the floor, and clasped together by a rusted chain. His hair, long brown and shaggy, and eyes, gray and grim. Under the cloak, he wore chainmail, and under that, a ragged cotton shirt and leggings. His boots were large, but silent as he walked.

     "Come forth!" the king called.

     His visitor stood for a moment then stepped forward, raising his head and hands to the man upon the throne, and saying, "my lord, my gracious king, I come to you to present you with an offering." He grinned.

     "And where is this offering?" His Majesty replied.

     "It does not come in any physical form. As I said, it is an offer."

     "Oh?"

     The man made a slight bow and said, "I offer you the chance to keep your precious life, in return for your throne," he grinned wider, raising his face towards to king.

     Everyone in the room stiffened and the guards around the man unsheathed their swords.

     Astonished, the king replied, "Are you threatening me?"

     "Am I?" the man replied. "No. I am Cedric Grimmborne. Soon to be, 'King of Seven Realms!'"

     "Guards! Arrest this man," the king shouted, but as he did, the man whirled and the guards around him fell to the ground.

     Red-tipped sword in hand, the man said, "I take that as a denial of my offer. You shall die then." He approached the king maniacally as more guards approached. A group of soldiers with shields and spears came first from behind the king from two separate doors on the sides of the room. The king backing up higher on to his throne.

     "No man can save you now. Only if you give me your crown and kingdom!"

     A row of archers came through the doors with more spearmen.

     "You think you can stop me?"

     The king did not reply, his mouth gaping at the sight of the man. The man's sword began to glow and his eyes were bright. Each step making them brighter.

     "Shoot! Stop him!" the king yelled and a volley of arrows followed, only to come to a dead stop in the air a foot from his pursuer. The arrows hovered in the air, and then dropped.

     "No mundane weapon can kill me!" Cedric shouted, "I give you one last chance to give up, or your life will be lost to my sword."

     The king began to panic as his men fell one by one without disrupting the man's pursuit, a slow but gaining approach to the throne, and not one arrow or blade even grazing him. No matter what the men did, they could not touch him, nor save the king.

     "Just give up!"

     "Never!" the king screamed. "Cala Drago havass!" he hissed in a forgotten tongue.

     The man stopped, almost intrigued. "It's too late for—"

     Suddenly, the wall behind the throne opened slightly from the center and a slim white dragon crashed through in the direction of the man.

     Simultaneously, a red dragon came through the right wall of the throne room and crashed into the white dragon, swung its massive head down and sunk its sword-like teeth into its neck, pinning it.

     It was not long before the struggle was over. The dragon raised itself and looked at the man in the throne.

     "You have just died . . . Your Majesty," the man grinned as he closed in the last few steps to the throne, and the end of the rule of King Lucifer the second, Lord of Meridia.

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