Tales from Emershya

Chapter One Written by Rokee Rafferty

I The Fireproof Raven

The winter had been the coldest to date but summer was approaching soon. The other seasons had been forgotten and replaced by two segments of summer and two of winter. Such was the harshness of the changing climate in Emershya. In winter water would fall from the sky as if it were weeping for a lost love; perhaps it was mourning the death of autumn. The snow, in the second segment of winter, would reach the knees of a creature of six foot. The waters did not run, frozen as they were by the deep blisteringly cold breaths of the land bidding the living to stay warm or die. Emershya was not all flat lands and snow. The summer revealed in its blinding light an incomparable beauty. To the south the hills rolled like the notes of a symphony, the grass as fresh as the suns heat would allow. Animals frolicked and forgot the harsh days of winter. In the forests of the East all manner of tree and plant grew in varying colour which, in summer, became a rainbow both in aroma and sight. In the north were many mountainous regions where tales were whispered of mighty trolls and goblins cunning enough to trade you your arm for a handful of change. The West was home to many villages and flat lands; the hills of the South bled through on the south-west, and the mountains crept in on the edges of the Northern part of the West. This was Emershya. Only a single continent; part of a whole; to be revealed later... There was many a kingdom within and beyond Emershya. Those within were as follows: The proud Elves of Sol who made their home in the south where the fine fruits were of which they made even finer wine. In the North were two warring dwarven clans unable to resolve issues that had started centuries before. The North-eastern clan of Grumm who wished to feast on sweet meats almost as much as they wished to spill blood, the second dwarven clan being Orra who took great pride in their masonry and blacksmithing skills and had serious problems involving hierarchical segregation and prejudice towards elves. The West was home to humans. Untrusted by all for their unusual resilience and potential for greed born of ambition; they were the youngest race in Emershya and had arrived among the flames of war, flame being the important subject. The last war-which was as hellish and pointless as any other-was one of steel, magic, and dragon-fire; a flame said to burn brighter than seven upon seven suns. The people of Emershya named the war after the most formidable Dragon Hunter, Scerion Stonefoot. So named because of his mighty stature and cumbersome feet which caused great thumps like thunder with each step, Scerion wielded neither sword nor shield but a mighty hammer named Bruta. The hilt of Bruta stood as tall as a mages staff; at least six foot. The height of Bruta was two inches taller than Scerion himself. The great Scerion Stonefoot was perhaps most famed for his impenetrable armour which was cast of both dwarven and elven steel. This mixture of metals was known as the First Alloy. Regardless of the alloys effectiveness the technique of mixing metals became wildly untrusted because of its dependence on magic. During Scerions War an overwhelming number of dark creatures were vanquished by his hand alone: The tiger of Northridge, a basilisk, a crazed griffon, a cockatrice, a two headed lion, and finally a highly volatile dragon also known as Scerion. The warrior took the dragons name after defeating it; a final insult. No one remembers what Scerion Stonefoots name was before the last war, that part of his life remains an enigma. -1-

Tales from Emershya

Chapter One Written by Rokee Rafferty The centuries which followed Scerions War were fraught with small skirmishes over land and the breaking of smaller more insignificant treaties. Once the land had been divided fairly the four Pillars which were the names of the four members of Emershyas high council returned to their respective homes along with their advisors. The human Pillar and king of the western lands of Aeter was known as King Nesbith II. He returned to the grand Phoenix fortress at the heart of Tolkien; Aeters capital city. Which by no small coincidence is where our story begins; deep beneath the cobbled streets of Tolkien were the dungeons wherein all of the criminals were kept. In a cell not too far from the entrance to the dungeon lay Martin a young man of no more than nineteen. His beard had grown scratchy and his hair unkempt. His teeth were marginally crooked and yellowing slightly. Martin awoke to the sound of turmoil; a dwarf was being escorted to his cell. Martin had been in rags for such a time that he had forgotten what fine garments looked like. Zenig was wearing what looked like sturdy but yet flexible studded leather which hid under a silk robe with fiery patterns of red and orange like the tail of a phoenix. Embroidered on his left chest were the letters Z-U in calligraphy. He attempted a final tussle with the towering, blank-faced guards to no avail. They led him into the cell where Martin lay and locked the cell door. Martin sat up and began staring at him. He noticed this and stared back, smiling. He then strode proudly over to Martin and extended a welcoming hand to shake Martins. The sunlight from the cell window hit his slightly greying blonde hair as he stood awaiting a courteous response from Martin. Little did he realise that Martin was not knowledgeable in the ways of etiquette or manners. After all he was Shyan; a name used for a human born in Emershya but not born into wealth or royalty whereas Zenig knew how to behave like a Emerian; which was the term used for someone born not only in Emershya but also into wealth or royalty. After a moments silence Zenig lowered his invitation. He instead scratched at his emerald eyes and finally said have you never met another person? Dont know how to greet people do you? Martin shrugged and kicked up legions of tiny specks of dirt. He sat beside Martin on the shockingly uncomfortable bench well thats shockingly uncomfortable, he exclaimed. Another silence filled the room. Have you been here a long time? Mayhap youve forgotten your words? he said, nudging Martin jovially. No response. It occurs to me that you may not have had words to begin with Zenig said under his breath no matter, a blunt hammer kills swifter than a sharp axe, eh boy? Zenig exclaimed loudly, once again nudging Martin. Zenig nodded in jolly defeat. Martin looked again at the letters Z-U on his chest. Seeing this, Zenig sat up straight as a look of pride came over his face. He cleared his throat and said Its my initials, if youre interested so he brushed dirt away from his chest, gold speckled silk, made through simple yet difficult magic, Martin now sat up; he was interested. Zenig scratched his greying beard, oh, what got you so interested all of a sudden, was it the mention of gold or perhaps magic? inquired Zenig. Both Martin said. Zenig raised his eyebrows and smiled. There was another brief silence broken by Zenig letting out a deep and hearty laugh. He roughly patted Martin on the back. He nodded approvingly and said ambition, thats the only way to start getting what you want out of life, remember that, now poking Martin innocently in the chest. Zenig began to pat the initials on his chest Zenig Ulbriam of clan Orra, you see its my name. Martin sat awaiting further explanation. I got it for committing a heroic act Zenig said, looking prouder than ever. Basically there was this lion and he was a real grump, I think one of our hunters killed his wife or something. He would constantly make the small village that I grew up in, Old Hand, a dangerous place. So I was summoned to dispatch this beast -2-

Tales from Emershya

Chapter One Written by Rokee Rafferty I found myself riding along in this wondrous wagon owned by a trader in fine spices and salts. The aromas where so varied and yet they blended to glorious effect. I digress. The trader had been through Old Hand once or twice recently and naturally had plenty of intelligence about the place. This information was divulged to me, for a price. With bow and quiver ready I made my way to the town on foot; after the trader dropped me off close-by. So there I was back in my childhood village, I could see it in the distance and with the sight of it approaching it did not take long for the old memories to return, the nostalgia was overwhelming. Before had I even a chance to glimpse the villagers of my old home I was put upon by the very lion I had gone there to dispatch. He was a fearsome sight. Not like any feline I had ever encountered. His mane was more unkempt than you hair, boy; and such teeth. Oh they could tear a mans flesh from bone with ease. The mighty claws of that beast were almost indescribable; as long as my middle-finger. The lion roared a mighty roar and knocked me aback. So I found myself on my back facing up at a villainous big cat which looked hungrier than the abyss itself. To my surprise the lion did not eat me nor play with my body in victory, nay. It spoke. It bellowed more. Despair! it said. Despair on those who tread here! it clawed at me but I blocked with my bow which was destroyed in the exchange. Fool! Fie on you and your kin! No mortal weapon can stand against me! I shall put a stop to the evil of your kind! the lions eyes were ablaze with rage. Yet for a strange reason I was not afraid, perhaps I was too stupid to be afraid; a wiser man would have begged for mercy, not I. At that opportune moment the spare dagger that my father had given me for luck came to mind. They say luck is when preparation meets opportunity, fair play to them. I took the dagger and thrust it as strongly as I could into the lions heart as he took a chunk of flesh from my shoulder. The dagger plunged deeply into his chest and his body began to weep his life-blood. The lion did not roar nor cry out in pain, it simply stared down at the wound as if it had never seen its own blood before. Luck was with me that day, I used all the strength in my legs to kick away the lion; he crashed to ground with a THUD. I stood over him victorious no animal not even a lion could defeat a dwarf from the house of Ulbriam, I said triumphantly. I had won, or so I thought. The lion apparently found this amusing and so began to laugh aloud. I thought perhaps he had truly become crazed, or perhaps I, for witnessing a talking lion. After hed been fully entertained and his laughing frenzy had ended words were uttered, words which made my bones shudder I am no lion the beast said, it stood on all fours and began to shudder and contort. It was whispering things of a dark nature; incantations. At that mome-Zenig was interrupted by the same blank-faced guards. They rattled the bars to alert Zenig. He looked up as if insulted; he never liked to be interrupted in the telling of a story. What is it? What? Some more insults about my height? Perhaps you ask if my family jewels are proportionate to the rest of me. Speak guard! Zenig almost yelled. You have been bailed out the guard struggled with the last word as if he did not think it was appropriate milord. Zenig grinned almost immediately and stood from the shockingly uncomfortable bench. He smugly and slowly brushed his clothes down, taking every victorious moment in as the guard stood half-embarrassed-half-furious. Zenig looked over to the window, small and lonely, its only purpose to guide light through the wall and into the darkness of the small -3-

Tales from Emershya

Chapter One Written by Rokee Rafferty dank cell he had found himself in. It seemed Martin had brought something out in Zenig that he had not felt since his son. Zenig looked over to Martin who sat looking as if desperation had taken hold of him once more. Zenig could leave now; Martin was not of wealth and had no connections, not even an education. Does one have a soul or does it come from exercises in morality Zenig thought to himself. He smiled at Martin again and Martin brightened a little. Zenig turned to the guard and beckoned him over. Then Zenig pointed at the boy, who will bail him out? He certainly wont be breaking out, his arms are as thin as a crows legs, Zenig was right in what he said; Martin was pale, thin, and malnourished. We were asked to keep this prisoner the guard pointed at Martin without even a glance of acknowledgement, underfed so as not to allow his mind to become lucid. Upon hearing this Zenig became nauseous; he had heard something which did not put him in a very positive state of mind. You are deliberately underfeeding this boy? You say you dont want him to be lucid, why? Zenigs face was changing more and more from happy and jolly to fuming with rage. He strode over to the boy and lifted him to a standing position. Martin had not stood up in a long time. His knees felt strained and were trembling from effort. Come now, you can stand for yourself at least Zenig said light-heartedly. Martin could stand, barely. Zenig looked over to the guards who stood watching without compassion, nonplussed numbskulls Zenig said under his breath. At that moment the cunning Zenig hatched a plan; not complex not even particularly difficult, but cunning. He turned on his heel to face the amoral guards and said it seems, my good man, that you have made an unwise - nay - fatuous decision, the guard looked to Zenig, completely bemused. Martin was equally bemused and sat down again, you see this young man has proven himself in a subtle and he looked over his shoulder and winked mischievously at Martin, difficult to explain manner to be integral to my future ambitions, to that end he will have to be released into the custody of my Second Zenig proclaimed haughtily. The guard looked on in shock; finally something had surprised him, youhave aSecond. Zenig nodded nonchalantly. A Second was a magically-enabled person whom made a pact with someone to serve them as both advisor and protector; it was not entirely unheard of for a Second to become infatuated or smitten by their pact-partner, not such luck for Zenig. She was probably the one who bailed me out Zenig said. No that cant be right, if your Second is a woman then the guard said hastily. Tell me, the person who bailed me out was not Elinor Godleaf? Zenig asked in confusion. The guard shook his head assuredly. Zenig motioned Martin to stand. This was twice in one day that Martin had used his legs. He remembered why he used to eat more often. His knees began to tremble again. The strange mark on the back of his hand was itching; as it had done before. Suddenly another guard came bumbling down the stairs to the exit of the dungeon. Martin heard one of the guards whisper Wilfur. The fairly plump man made it all the way to Martins cell and stood upright. The guards gave him a moment to catch his breath; the plump man, known as Wilfur, was wheezing slightly and messing with his bowl haircut. He had a reddened face due to being exhausted from running. His hair was mousy-brown and he had a slightly dark complexion. -4-

Tales from Emershya

Chapter One Written by Rokee Rafferty Wilfur cleared his throat and said loudly Sorceress Elinor Godleaf has asked me to deliver a message to Zenig Umbria, Zenig nodded in approval. Wilfur cleared his throat for a second time, Elinor would like to inform you that she is waiting for you outside the dungeons and that shed prefer if you didnt delay as she has important business to attend to. Well tell her she will have to wait. I am currently securing the release of my future apprentice, Martin Zenig turned his head to Martin again whats your last name? he whispered. Martin shrugged. Yes, my future protg Martin Shrugs-his-shoulders, inform her that I wont be leaving without him Zenig said, as plans began spinning and melding in his brilliant mind. He bid Wilfur away to relay the message; Wilfur looked at his fellow guardsmen for confirmation. Off you go then Wilfur, mind you dont faint on the way there, said one of the guards mockingly. Wilfur made a face which told Martin that he was used to that kind of abuse and was making every effort to rise above it. Moments later he returned looking slightly harddone-by. In his wake was a tall women with a youthful face, she had dark-tan skin and full lips, her brown eyes gleamed in the light of the dungeon torches. She glided over to Martins cell as all the guards looked greedily at her shapely figure. This woman did not dress provocatively as they might have hoped. Everything about her clothes were elegant and yet battle-ready. She slowly made her way to the cell, drinking in the slobbering male attention. Her Staff jangled; bells were attached to the top. The Staff was close to seven foot with the top being just above her head. It was made of wood likely from some ancient tree, the knots of the wood twisted around the shape of the staff; a subtle spiral. Along with the bells at the top of the staff were feathers with white at their base followed by a gradient of blue and then black. These feathers were replicated on her cloak; the feathers on her cloak surrounded her neck. She finally stopped at the cell door and looked impatiently at Zenig; who grinned back at her. Although attempting to look stern she allowed a small smile to escape. She then looked quickly over to Martin and then back to Zenig. Both Zenig and the woman were making faces as if communicating in some kind of non-verbal language, Zenig finally nodded. The woman let out a long sigh and revealed a voice as soft as fine silk Zenig when I told you to find me an apprentice I did not expect She restrained herself for fear of offending Martin. Elinor, my friend Zenig said with a honeyed tone, Elinor rolled her eyes. Put that silver tongue away, friend, Elinor was weary of Zenigs ability to charm or simply trick through intellect. They had known each other since the third-scale of nine hundred and five. I told you I needed an apprentice by second winter of third-scale nine hundred and eight, this young man simply is not adequate she turned to Martin and stared him up and down. She looked at the mark on his hand. Elinor raised her eyebrows at sight of the obscure mark on Martins hand curioushow did that mark appear, boy? Martin was nervous, he had never seen such a beautiful woman and better yet she knew magic. He realised the silence had gone on for a time and he should probably say something, I dont rememberImy mother I thinkI remember her holding my handand my fatherthey were saying things, I was only a baby, Martin was trying his best to remember. Elinor squinted as if Martin had become a thousand times more interesting.

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Tales from Emershya

Chapter One Written by Rokee Rafferty What is your last name? Elinor said, now smiling. That I cant remember, sorry said Martin. Amnesia, hmm, Elinor began to ponder. Zenig seemed to be growing restless. He cleared his throat to get Elinors attention. She darted her eyes at him Zenig we must take this boy with us, Elinor said sternly. Zenig gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up to Martin who smiled weakly. Zenig led Martin past the guards and out of the cell, the guard did not dare argue with a sorceress like Elinor Godleaf. The trio came out of the cells and into the market streets of Tolkien where they saw Wilfur napping under a shady tree. It was after all the first day of summers first segment. The streets of the markets split and ran through Tolkien like the veins and arteries of a great organism. Martin had been in the dungeons for so long that the light of day burned his eyes and the freshness of the air made him dizzy. How long were you in that dungeon for, Martin? Zenig asked. Since Scale three, nine-zero-four, what year is it now? Martin asked, slightly dazed by the sunlight. Scale three, nine-zero-eight, Zenig said looking slightly shocked and staring at Martin. The people of Emershya and beyond had devised a system of time which consisted of a unit known as scales; this was in reference to the scales of a dragon. Each scale was worth a thousand years and this would be followed by three numbers. Take for example if one citizen were to say to another this is the second-scale, five-one-seven it would mean that it was the year two thousand five hundred and seventeen. Eliot had been in the dungeons of Tolkien for four years. Why were you in there in the first place Martin? Elinor asked. Martin became nervous again, he blushed. Zenig took note of this and let out a small chuckle. I stole some bread and he paused for a moment to try and remember what exactly he had done, it was four years ago. I toasted the bred with my hands, somebody saw me doing it Martin continued to explain slowly. Elinor appeared to be walking and casually listening, she was in fact listening very intently. they said I was possessed that I brought fire from dark places just to toast my bread, they said there was no telling what I would burn next, that I was an arsonist in the making at this point Martin grew uncomfortable, he began to sweat and his hands were shaking. Ithe man was shouting very loudlyhe came at me with a pitchforkgnashing his teethsoIburnt himjust like the bread. Martin lowered his head, he was deeply ashamed of this memory; it was one he was forced to relive every time he closed his eyes for the past four years. Elinor said nothing. She indicated for Zenig and Martin to wait there. Elinor strode over to Wilfur and began whispering with him, money was exchanged and Wilfur shot off as fast as his fat legs could take him; towards the stables. What did you tell him? Zenig asked Elinor when she returned. Elinor sighed and said begrudgingly I told himthe raven that flies against the setting sun will not burn Zenigs face became white as a ghosts, he turned his head to look at Martin and then back at Elinor who nodded subtly, let us depart, we must leave Tolkien soon as -6-

Tales from Emershya

Chapter One Written by Rokee Rafferty possible. Zenig made no argument; in fact he became very quiet. Martin felt a sense of foreboding; what did Elinor mean about the raven? He thought to himself. How could I be a witchs apprentice and what about my mark had Elinor so interested, Martin continued to deliberate these matters within his mind. Before he was locked away in the cell Martin was a bright boy; in both senses of the word. He was jollier on a bad day than Zenig was on a good day and intelligent. Martin could learn skills very quickly and had a keen mind for problem solving. That was all returning to him, every second he spent in the fresh air brought back another fragment of memory. He began thinking on his old village; he could not remember the name. He had friends there and they would play by a river, somewhere. No matter what was taken away from him in that cell the one thing he did not lose was his fascination with magic. The trio finally found themselves at the exit of Tolkien. Martin looked back at the aged and mossy walls of the city; said to be as impenetrable as the First Alloy. He was happy to be leaving as he bit into his bread. Elinor had scalded Martin for eating too quickly. The truth was that he had given half of it to a young pauper; who needed it more than he. They walked on in a southern direction. Elinor explained that she needed the High Magisters permission before she could take Martin on as an apprentice. They walked through many a village along the winding dirt roads which cut gently through the landscape of West Emershya. They trod past small streams and grand trees; animals dashing out of their way. As they walked they became more and more exhausted until finally they were forced to stop underneath a large and strong tree. It was an oak tree; white and aged, with branches reaching outwards in all directions. It had no leaves yet; for summer had only just begun. In frustration Elinor and Zenig had begun arguing; she insisted that Zenig should not cut from this grand white oak and Zenig insisted they needed wood for fire and that she was nuttier than an acorn tree; both valid arguments. Elinor won out and the old tree was saved. As an alternative she conjured a small flame which hovered just above the ground. Zenig became quiet again but this time it was because he was moping and mumbling about sticking something so far up somewhere. Martin did not care if they argued of laughed or cried, as long as they were there. Solitude was something he could handle but it was still nice to be among other people. He felt safe and wanted. They did not seem to jump to conclusions about him even after he had told about how he had ended up imprisoned. Perhaps he would finally do something important with his strange ability maybe he could leave a real mark and be remembered.

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