My Fantasy Writing

A Dance of Swords by Phong Tran

 

Prologue

The chirping of the crickets pierced the frosty evening and the owls hoot their usual melodies with nonchalantness. Raindrops began slowly descending onto the ground, making little puddles here and there. And the forest was in darkness, only the moon luminating some areas. The night was foggy as well, bringing with it many surprises that a person would discover at the last moment if he happen to wander in its domain; maybe a tree trunk that one would stumble and twist an ankle, or a branch that might knock a person off from his horse if he was careless while riding, or a pot hole that could injure a rider's horse's leg. Not surprisingly, many have troth through this thick forest for ages.

Travelers, merchants, smugglers, vagabonds, commonfolks and even the King's grand army have once traveled through the forest and left behind a worn down dirt road. But now, over the years, the forest has become deserted. No longer used as often because the forest was suddenly filled with unexplainable apparitions. It was said to be haunted by what none knew. There were many accounts from witnesses who happen to be fortunate enough to make it through alive who claimed that they saw white, glowing things moving in the night, shadows descending among the trees like they were alive and many such instances. People tend to avoid the place utterly by going around it. Many people who entered the forest were never to be heard from again. It was unclear to what was causing the disappearances but what was clear was the fact that whomever traveled through the forest, never return. It was known to many as the Forest of the Dead and everyone feared to troth through its domain.

Nearby, a river flowed smoothly parallel to the road, its water as freezing as ice. The river ran continuously through the forest and out into the sea. During the summer, salmons filled the river as they raced the currents to laid their eggs upstream, animals of all sort came to drink away their thirst, and flowers bloomed along the bank. But this time of season, its water was sickly cold. No animals to drink from its shore, no fishes swam in the freezing currents and certainly no plants growing along its shore. Any sign of life was the wrinkled, withered oaks that made up the ancient forest and sometimes a white rabbit might scurried into the open to forage for food.

Winter has spread its arm across the land and shadowed everything in its path. The weather was ungiving during this time of year. Oaks, evergreens, and the flowers of summer and autumn have all withered away like a dying rose. The ground was littered with the white of snow, covering trees, grasses, and everything else like a blanket. The whole world seemed to be all in white. From somewhere afar, deep in the thick of the forest, dogs could be heard barking boisterously. Their yelping continued with loudness, breaking the silence of the night. In their frenzy, they snapped at each other with their long, sharp fangs as saliva spew forth from their mouths. They have caught a scent and eagerly trying to search out their prey. They ran with eagerness, while close behind three men all cladded in armor followed in pursue on their warhorses slowly through the thick of the wet, frosty woods.

"I am uneasy with this place," whispered Tylin as he eased his horse at a trotting pace. "We could be back with the rest right now with food and a warm tent to sleep in."

"Quit complaining Tylin," said Sayan with a smirk. "I don't like this more than you do. I mean, while the rest are preparing for home, we're stucked in this hellhole. I do not like this at all. This is not a place I would want to be. There are evil spirits here."

"You're not afraid of ghosts are you?" asked a balding man with a hint of a smile. The only hair on his feature was his silver streak beard. He was armored in bronze mail from neck to toe. And strapped on his hip was a longsword.

"I'm not afraid," insisted Sayan, though nervously looking around. "It's just that people have been known to disappear from this damned place. It is a cursed forest. Everyone knows that."

"These are just trees, nothing more," replied the balding man. "You should be more concern with the boy. It will get dark soon. Time is what we don't have right now. The boy must be found dead or alive."

Scratching his soakened, trimmed hair, Sayan urged his horse forward through the thick of the trees. "Preferably dead, I assume?" he said. "You are right though Gentah. The sun is setting. If we don't find him, Allaran will not be happy."

Gentah was a man without fear and tough as an ox. Broad in shoulders, skillful with a blade, and has a great deal of tenacity, he was a hard pressing man. What he learned as a soldier was that the only way to live was to know how to survive, so he has been training constantly almost all the time after he was sent to the army. He was a discipline, well-liked man. When he had reached his thirteenth birthday, his parents sent him off to the military to serve King Aris. He did not complain because it was what he wanted. Twenty years in the service of the king has taught him the value of discipline. He had fought for his king through many battles and has been rewarded handsomely. But now, the king he had so admired and love was dead, slained in a frontal assault against the army of the South.

The Southern estates, under Holliver Dragona who named himself King of the South, had declared independence and they had refused to acknowledge King Aris as the true king of the entire realm and refused to pay taxes. King Aris would not have such a matter go undone, so he had mustered his grand army against the South. Many battles were fought and many lives were lost. In the end the victory came with a high price.

The Southern army was shattered to pieces and their land was in ashes. Allaran, son of Aris, butchered the housewhole of Dragona, from the servants to the ladies and lords for the demise of his father. He had shown no mercy and who could blame him. King Aris was loved by his people and his death was a great lost to them all. But Gentah was not pleased with the unnecessary killing of Lady Saela, widow of Dragona, and all the bloodline of Dragona. It was an act that brought distaste to Gentah. He had to stand by and ordered the execution of them all. He shooked himself from the memory.

"Allaran will never be satisfied as long as the line of Adar is still alive," muttered Gentah to no one.

"If the fucking bitch hadn't sneaked her way out with the runt, we wouldn't be here right now," said Sayan. His mood was getting to a boiling point.

Tylin grunted and stared at Sayan. "I thought killing her was enough to quench your anger," he said. "You sure took her head clean off. I guess that's how you treat a lady eh?"

Sayan was not amused with his sarcastic remark. "Well, she had it coming," Sayan replied. "The wench tried to stab at me with a knife. As if that would save her from death. The boy was lucky to have escaped us just when we almost had him."

The current of the river was stronger in the middle than he had anticipated. And the water was so cold. He was tired and his body ached all over. Behind him, he can hear the barking of the dogs getting closer. Suddenly, fear rushed into his heart. As he struggled to swim across the river, his heart pounded harder and harder in his chest. Only a few more yards before he would get to the other side, but he was so exhausted. The icy touch of the water was making his legs numb. He felt as though his body would collapse at any moment, bearing him down into the dept of the cold abyss. But fear infused him with new strength as he continued his effort in getting to the far side of the river. Everything was running in his mind. Why is this happening to him? Too many things were on his mind but one thing he knew for sure was that he was afraid. The thought of being hunted was too dreadful for him to even think. All he knew was that he would never willingly go with those people who butchered his family.

 

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