History of the Realm

Chapter 4

Corinth woke up on a sandy beach. His heavy clothes clung to him, made stiff by saltwater. He blinked, letting the burning seawater flow off his eyes. A quick glance around revealed a coastal wasteland, with only the scraggliest trees and shrubs dotting the horizon. He stepped upon the remains of coral, wincing as the razor-sharp stone sliced effortlessly through his boot. He bent down and snapped off a shard off the coral, and began walking inland.

He admitted to himself he had not a clue what he intended to do. He had but the garments he wore and his hunting gear he had snatched before finding his brother. He was hungry and thirsty and sweating from every pore as the desert sun beat down upon him.

The wind whistled, picking up grains of sand to throw in Corinth’s eyes. Very faintly, he heard footsteps upwind of where he stood. Silently, he nocked an arrow, crouched down and glided to the source of the sound. The wind surged, raising up enough sand to blot out the sun. Corinth was almost beside source of the noise. Suddenly, a black figure ran past him, knocking him down. Corinth drew back the bowstring and fired the arrow. The figure fell to the dust. The wind died down.

The figure was humanoid, with mottled grey skin and glowing green eyes. Corinth’s arrow had lacerated the creature’s neck, causing instant and painless death. The sound of feet shuffling rose from behind him. Corinth turned.

A crowd of grey-skinned creatures stood amassed behind him. Armed with daggers and bows, they drew closer, visibly angry. Corinth suddenly realized that the corpse at his feet was that of their king. The dagger-wielders charged, and a volley of arrows took flight towards him. He raised his hands and sent out a fiery blast that immolated his attackers.

A deep rage took hold of him as he surveyed the near-instant carnage he had caused. His father was to blame for this. It was Septavius who had forced him to leave his home and live in exile here. He felt pity for the sandmen, and stooped among their corpses. He made a pact to himself that he would make these beings into an army, and take revenge upon Septavius for what he had done. He sliced his hand with the shard of coral he had gathered, and when the blood had dried, he set an inland course, hoping to find more allies.

From far away in the mountains, a purple-skinned demon with three yellow eyes watched the former prince of Aldan. So, he thought, it is as was forseen, my master.

Since when have my plans not come to pass, o Archdemon, a voice replied to the demon. Now, you wait. He will come to you. And then…

Then he will know the full extent of his people’s crimes. And we will make him one of us.

Do not fail me, or there will be no end to your pain.

The demon smiled. Have no fear, master. Malphas never fails.