Prologue: So It Begins (part 1)

“How had he gotten himself into this mess,” Jarthen wondered. He had known it would be difficult, but there was no way he could have for seen this. The heat, the noise, the cold steel blades flying every which way, it was all too much. “Who’d have thought working in a kitchen would be so hard?” the lithe boy of 12 asked himself, while he stood amid the confusion of Macrath’s Kitchen, the best pub in all of the West Fethil.

Jarthen thought back on why he had volunteered himself for this hellish servitude, oh yes, it was all coming back to him, money. He didn’t have it, but he needed it. The only way to get it was to work. The only place that would hire a boy of his age was a kitchen. Macrath’s was the best (and, coincidentally, the only) kitchen in his hometown of West Fethil. “Well,” he thought as he set to work scrubbing down the wooden tables at the end of the day, “I suppose it will all be worthwhile when I get paid.”

*****

It was well past 3 in the morning when he had finally finished cleaning the entire bar to the satisfaction of his employer. “What a night,” Jarthen said as he stumbled out into the crisp autumn night and made his way home. Not a soul was to be found on the narrow dirt street lined mainly with small thatched houses upon which he walked. It was this one street that made up the entirety of West Fethil: it had one bar, a small garrison, and a market where farmers and merchants came to peddle their wares. To the west of the town lay nothing for miles, until one came to the Great Erkenheld Forest, a remote place to the people in West Fethil. The land to the east was mainly farmland interspersed with the occasional house or hamlet. To the north, past more farms, and a few small hamlets, lay the dark land of the barbarians and savages. Legend held that there dwelt foul and evil beasts horrible beyond the imagination of good men, however no one in living memory had traveled there and returned to tell of such beasts. A few hundred miles east of the town was Neerhemhind, the great capital of all of the country Elothnin. It was a city of great magnitude, with a high wall for defense; four gates, one at each compass point; many homes, shops and inns; and, finally, a great castle built on higher ground than the rest of the city.

Jarthen surveys the dark, empty streets of his hometown

In this castle dwelt, Lilhelndine the Fair, Queen of all Elothnin. She had reigned for as long and anyone could remember, and it was said that her reign would never cease. The people thought of her as beautiful and kindly. She had protected the people from the barbarous northern lands, and ensured prosperity for all her people: Elothnin was a happy land.

At last, Jarthen reached his home. He lived with his mother and father in a small, three room house: it consisted of a kitchen, a bedroom where the three of them slept, and a small sitting room. He strode wearily in, and was surprised to find that his parents were still awake and sitting at their crudely fashioned kitchen table. Just as he was about to greet them, he realized that they were not alone: sitting at the table with them was a short, broad man. The stranger wore the mail, and cloak of a knight of the Queen (he had seen men in this uniform many times at the town’s garrison). Beside him was a sword in its scabbard, and a round shield. He was calm and expressionless; the only feature of his face that seemed to move was his eyes, which were intently surveying Jarthen’s home.

Jarthen’s father was the first to speak. “Hullo there lad, and how was your first day of work? Good eh? Got to make that money, right lad?” He seemed very pensive.

“Uhm…it was tiring, I suppose,” Jarthen replied, he than looked briefly towards the strange man in the corner.

Noticing the glance, his father said, “This is,” but he was cut off before he could finish by the man who had risen from his seat.

“My name is Larthon Ractor,” he began in a regal tone, “and I am a knight of her Majesty’s Royal Armed Guards. A great evil has attacked our beloved homeland, and I have been ordered to gather the most able bodied male from every third household. It has come to my attention that you are the most fit man in this house, thus it is my duty to inform you that you are now officially a member of Her Majesty’s Royal Army of Defense.”

the brave and noble Larthon Ractor

Jarthen stood in surprise for a moment before he could reply. Finally he managed to respond in a feeble voice, saying “but, but I’m just a boy! I’m too young to fight.”

“None are too young to aid in the service of our great country,” replied the knight. The knight stood, and said, “you are too report to the West Fethil garrison by dawn tomorrow.” He walked out of the house without another word.

“I’m sorry son, but you know I have these bad knees and all. I wouldn’t be much use to the Queen, bless her heart, anyways. Besides, it’ll be an honor to serve the country won’t it,” his father said in a rather unconvincing tone.

Jarthen’s mother simply put her head into her hands and began to cry.

Slightly dismayed at this unlikely twist of fate, Jarthen saw no other solution but to go to bed. He had a feeling that tomorrow would be a long day.