Fantasy: The Beginning of the End

Fantasy: The Beginning of the End - Z. Smith - Part One: The End - Chapter Three

Despite the chill of winter and the early hour of the day, Kolbrin Boulevard was a bustle of chattering merchants, droning and impoverished citizens, and the braying of beasts of burden. The crackling of snow, freshly frozen after a lonely and bitter night, rose from underfoot; the delicate sculptures of ice were absently pressed into blackened mud by weary and ragged boots. Crimson cardinals chirped and flitted between rooftops and the grimy streets in an attempt to scrounge up the smallest morsel. Winter, I thought, truly was the unkindest of the seasons.

Life was moving at a rate I could scarcely acknowledge. After a fitful night of suffocating dreams, I had awoken with a gnawing deep in my guts and a cold sweat on my brow. Haggardly I stepped from the warm comfort of bed and pulled out documents and maps from my already-packed satchel. As the dim rays of morning crept through the window panes, my green orbs stared blankly at worn parchment. Darius lay dozing in his own bed without a care in the world, and I could only hope for the peace he briefly enjoyed.

Plans never go quite as one expects, I suppose. After taking the rigorous tests to complete our training, I had looked forward to joining the other rangers and learning under their wise tutelage. Walking the proud and ancient streets of Lornhold, the stoic guardian of the Kingdom of Men, with men and women who had sworn lives of service and dedication. There was no higher calling and no higher honor patrolling the Windswept Moors day and night to ensure those innocents in the south slept peacefully in their beds, fearing not what lay hidden in the encircling mists.

Duty, brother to respect and husband of honor, is oftentimes fickle. Every expectation I had about life evaporated with a packet of papers and two words. The gnawing I felt earlier intensified as Darius and I grabbed our equipment and shut the door on a previous life, descending storied stairs and departing into a frigid and lonely world outside. How many times had we walked these sordid streets and cramped alleys in the near two decades we called Noran home? And why now do I feel as if I were walking these filthy, soggy streets for the first time?

Darius and I buffeted our way through the bustle of Noran's Outer Quarter; I took particular care to ensure the spiky bear that was my ranger badge stayed fixed on the collar of my coat. The morning sun had made its ascent into a clear, blue sky long ago, though tinges of soft pinks and oranges wafted through cotton-white clouds above. We were nearing the outer wall of the city, and the number of merchants, pedestrians, and food and wares stands soon outnumbered the quickly melting snowflakes seeping into sticky, often-trodden muck. A vast horde of poverty snarled, begged, kicked, and wept before the archway housing the Lionheart Gates, which stood open to receive even more of the desperate and huddled masses. Crowds like this were commonplace in the Outer Quarter, and while newly arriving visitors might be startled at the din congregated at the front gates, the average city-dweller would find this scene commonplace. Darius and I wove our way through the chaos with the precision of experience; while we might be raw rangers fresh into the field, we were Noranians at our cores.

In the middle of the savage tapestry, though, was a gaping hole—something completely unexpected and, when Darius and I happened upon it, we stopped in our tracks in trepidation. My first reaction was how I could have missed the mighty wall of steel men erected proudly in the midst of the muddy and shambling poor around them; I instantly saw why sending knights on Operation Plight would have been disastrous. Then the question of why these honored soldiers of the Kingdom of Men were planted in the mouth of the Lionheart Gates arose. The answer was easily attained as each knight turned his eyes on us as we entered the clearing.

"Halt!" one of the knights barked as he spotted us, placing an armored hand to rest on the hilt of his sword. While Darius and I had already stopped out of sheer curiosity, it took a moment for me to realize the man was talking to us.