Chapter 1
Drewth - A Promotion to Power
DREWTH - LIGHT ELEMENTAL
Worthy valor tainted by a wickedness,
he struggles within to determine
what is wrong or right,
questioning his own existence.
Forces inside him of Dark and Light
turmoil over his destiny,
but in the end, only he will decide.
"SIR DREWTH!” cried a castle guard in recognition of an officer, fully armored in black plate, approaching his guarding position, next to wooden double doors. His associate guard on the other side of the door recognized the name and stood straighter in respect. The officer knight did not respond; he progressed toward the doors without word, the only sound his hard boots on the floor. The first guard noticed his intended direction through the double doors and without hesitation reached with his free hand and pulled the left door open, the second guard doing the same with the right door. Still silently and not even looking at the guards, the officer knight swept silently through the doors, hearing them creak on metal hinges as the obedient guards pushed them shut behind him.
He was now walking down a hallway with a bare stone floor, old enchanted yellow fire torches hanging from their black iron sconces on the stone walls. At the end was a stone stairway, which he descended, that turned into a large room with a broad square wooden table in the center, empty wooden chairs tucked in on all sides, a couple were askew from the table by recent users.
"Lord Syndirin!" called the knight as he descended the steps. He reached the bottom, and walked straight toward a tall, bony middle-aged man in a great night blue cloak adorn with gold lining and swirling gold patterns. He walked in prompt fashion up to this man, and dropped to one knee with his eyes to the ground, in proper etiquette.
"You may rise", pronounced the man, wearily.
The knight rose to a stance face to face with the cloaked man. "M'Lord", the knight started, eyes still with a hard glare of recent battle, voice quiet but equally hard, "as you ordered, the Driadon slave rebellion has been ended."
"Ended?” questioned the man in a tone of dark amusement.
"Ended, M'Lord.” the knight concluded. And picking up on the man's amuse, added, "Had to use a bit of force"—he patted the shining black hilt of a sheathed sword at his side with a gauntleted hand -"to accomplish that, though."
The cloaked man contemplated the protruding sword hilt, and a smile slowly crossed his bony face. "Slaves, Driadon or not, should be respectful to there true masters...sometimes they do need to be, ah, put back in there place."
The knight nodded once to the calmly stated but malicious thought, agreeing, and added, "If the Driadons do not want to be under masters, then they should have fought a little harder when we went to take them in as slaves." The cloaked man laughed sinisterly, turning and taking a couple slow steps away, ponderous of the knight's last statement.
He stopped, and turned back to the knight. "Drewth, you merit a rank higher than mere Officer Knight,” he said. Drewth looked at him curiously. The man continued, "I wish you to train to become Arbiter’s Second." The knight peered even more curiously at the man. This man was ranked Arbiter, himself! That was a title right under a King! The Arbiter was a wizard over all wizards, and had the power of a King's command should the King be absent. Arbiter's Second was right beneath Arbiter. He would have so much more power as an Arbiter's Second. This meant magic training... He looked at Lord Syndirin, and as if reading the knight's mind, Syndirin said, "Yes, you will rank right under me. But you will not go under any magic trainer."
Drewth became no longer curious, but confused. "M'Lord?” he said, muddled. No magic trainer?
"You will train under me, personally." Stated the man surely, as if it was the only option and any other idea was insulting. The knight looked at him, remaining professionally calm but still incredulous. The Arbiter wants to magic train him himself!
"Yes, M'Lord.” he replied automatically, as a junior would to an order.
Syndirin bowed his head slightly to Drewth, his wordless way of dispatching him from conference. In his bow, the spare light was shadowed from his face, defining the bony jaw line and the deep sockets where his narrow eyes were encaved. An odd twinkle formed in those eyes as Drewth returned a deeper bow of head, turning away to exit the room. Syndirin’s eyes followed him out, and one end of his thin mouth turned up in a greedy subtle grin.
“You truly believe you can alter him?” a raspy voice queried from the dark corner of the room. The source of the voice, Korchloc, a Summoner, slowly materialized from the shadowy corner behind Syndirin as he terminated his Shadow Cloak spell to become visible again from his hiding. He had, under Syndirin’s instruct, hidden there to observe Drewth.
Syndirin turned his head slightly to, his broad back still to Korchloc. “One can only find out by trying.”
“You attempt to do what only Fate can decide, M’Lord”, Korchloc asserted, but with obvious caution in his tone.
Syndirin turned around to face Korchloc, who then instinctively attempted to inch away, only finding his back touch the wall behind him. Despite Korchloc’s attempt to further his distance, Syndirin took a slow, contemplative step toward Korchloc. “Fate,” Syndirin began, eyes locked with Korchloc’s, “is left with making the decision when one will not make the decision himself. Where it may not be Drewth’s fate, as it is a rarer fate indeed, perhaps I can direct his fate for him through my decision – my actions.” He took a final slow step toward Korchloc, now a distance within arm’s reach, and stopped, looming before him. “I’ve only now to find how. Or are you so feeble to not challenge Fate?”
“M’Lord,” Korchloc began carefully, “I’ve seen in no study or teachings, nor heard of any spell which would accomplish the Darkening of Light, the creation of a Greater Dark Elemental. Being of its experimental stage, it chances failure, but most definitely invokes dangers. I question if Drewth will remain alive through any involved procedures.”
Syndirin remarked pitilessly, “Well, we shall leave that part up to ‘Fate’, won’t we?”
Drewth's horse carried him through the night down the broad dirt road, lit only with the light of the moon, with dull thuds of hoofed feet. His mind was alive with thoughts of his promotion. Arbiter's Second!
Lights from torches dotted the ramparts of a small, distant castle, an outpost castle. Some windows glowed from lights within, making them seem like bright eyes on the lookout. His horse trotted toward the gate without him having to steer the reins; the horse knew this path. It took its master toward the tall, protective wooden gates, which is where the dirt road ended. The horse stopped before the closed gate.
"Who goes there?” cried a soldier from up top the wall. He was the gatekeeper.
The knight looked up at him, uttering no word in response, but glared indignantly. Did they not know who he was? He ran this unit and this outpost! After a moment of silent peering, the gatekeeper cognized with a half hearted and abashed "Oh..." - which Drewth heard—and then quickly stepped back, somewhere, which was out of the knight's view. Drewth looked on to the gates. After a moment he heard heavy chains engaging wooden gears, and the dwarfing doors of the entrance slowly started to open. The horse trotted on without letting the gatekeeper finish the process of opening all of the way; again, a trained-in routine from his rider. They passed through the castle's front gate and continued toward the rear tower.
He tied his horse up to the stall beside the stony wall of the tower, patted him on the neck appreciatively, and walked around to the tower's door. Pulling out a black iron key, he slid it into a lock in the handle and turned it, until he heard a click of a disengaged deadbolt, and pulled the thick wooden door open. He stepped inside.
He started ascending the winding tower stone stairs, which ran into smooth, stonewalls. He had elegantly had one of the royal blacksmiths place enchanted torches on the outside of the
stairs, so as to light up the enclosed space entirely. As he walked by their magically cool flame, he remembered when he ordered that castle blacksmith to enchant yellow fire upon the torches that never burn anything, never leave off smoke, and never end, but always give off bright light.
After passing by landings with heavy wooden locked doors, he reached his, second from the top. His own smoothed wooden door had a handle of shining steel, enchanted so as never to break or tarnish, which again he had that castle blacksmith craft. He reached for it with his gauntleted hand, turned it, and pulled it open.
He entered into his home. The floor was of polished white stone, a wolf’s fur rug at the foot of the threshold. The main room had two standing torches, also enchanted like the ones in the hallway, at the far back corners on either side of a fireplace; a tall, smooth stone basin to the left wall, enchanted to purify it's contents, filled with clear, cool drinking water, and silver goblets set upon it's broad rim, ready for use. He did not see his wife, and thought that she was absent. He turned into his bedroom from the main room, and reached the clasp on his cloak to undo it. But then, he felt calm, loving eyes looking at him from the back. It was her—Arigwhen.
He continued to undo his cloak, facing his opened armoire, not turning to acknowledge her presence. He swept his cloak off of his shoulders, and hung it on hooks. He removed the gauntlets from his hands, set them inside the armoire, and proceeded to undo his black armor, still feeling the silent observation on his back. Drewth somehow felt guilty; he had fought and killed that day - fought and killed slaves fighting for freedom. She always had a silent argument with this point. He knew she disagreed with a lot of the things he was ordered to do, and felt guilty toward her. Guilt... His head shook as he rid himself of that thought. He wasn't guilty! They deserved it!
It was as if he was already arguing with his wife.
He was having particular trouble with undoing a tie on his shoulder piece, when he felt a light tugging of his wife's gentle hands on the leather binding, and he dropped his hands to his side to let her work. He remained wordless, and facing ahead, trying not to start communication with her.
He felt one last gentle tug, and the shoulder piece lift from his body. She stepped past him quietly, the tough armor piece in her gentle hands, and set it softly down inside the armoire. She turned around, and stood in front and to the side of him, and he felt her begin undoing the other shoulder piece's bindings.
Drewth only then looked at her. She was beautiful; though dressed down in a white bedding gown, she still was beautiful. Her young soft pink lips silently closed on her youthful face, haloed with her long, wavy auburn hair that was left flowing down her back. Her blue-green eyes seemed full of knowledge, peace, and glowing with love, always.
He looked into her eyes, but she continued to look off at the shoulder piece, undoing its bindings. Moments before he did not want to talk to her, he felt resentful, but looking into her eyes, he softened, and even felt sorry for not communicating to her. Her expression did not change, though; it was as if she knew, knew his feelings. And then she spoke.
"I heard what happened.” she simply said, softly, a tone of understanding in her voice, still looking at the bindings, undoing them. She knew. How did she know? "A soldier had told me," she cut into his thoughts, as if answering. "I overheard a dispatch of soldiers' orders, before they left the outpost." The weight of the other shoulder piece lifted as she drew it off of him, unbound. She was not going to argue with him; she never had before. She was always loving. But surely, he felt it coming. He knew it was a violent experience, his job, but he had to do it, for the good of the Kingdom. Driadon slave rebellions could get nasty if not quickly retorted upon. Powerful beasts they were, and so equally as dangerous. This was a job he needed to do!
But she said no further words. She had turned back to him, and worked silently on the bindings of the cuirass piece.
All of the black armor was removed. He laid his sheathed sword inside the armoire, and shut it’s doors. He felt light after having worn the heavy armor all day. He bathed, then dressed into his nightshirt, and lay in his bed silently, staring up at a broad wooden support beam on the stone ceiling. He felt a depression on the bed to his side as his wife lay down next to him. She lay her head down by his side, and rested a hand on his chest. He felt the warmth of her hand through his nightshirt. He cared so much for her...
His thicker strong hand drifted over and lay on top of her gentle slender hand, fingers entwining with hers. After some time of silence, he heard her breathing calmly in sleep. He was still awake, staring at the ceiling. Why did he do what he did? His wife did have a point, he thought to himself, now in doubt. But he respected the Arbiter, who acted as his guide, his mentor. The Arbiter was truly wise. But magic training? He was classed Light Elemental, and with low potential, and this is why he was posted in the rank of Officer Knight. The only spell he could do was a minor Body Healing spell, which was a training step in Knighthood, as he was, before being promoted to Officer Knighthood. How would he live up to Arbiter's Second? His waking thoughts dimmed as he drifted off into sleep.