Hey everyone, this is the start of the first story I have ever tried to write. Please leave comments and any needed tips or changes! It would be great to hear all your feedback! I don't mind if you don't like it, I would like to know if anyone even likes it for me to continue! Thanks!
Prologue
Calbatoz readied himself as he sat atop Kron, his blood-red battle dragon. Below, his army of men, dwarves, and other menacing creatures prepared for the March toward York, an isolated city in the expansive human territory. "Following the quick destruction of York," he mused, "I will push south and destroy Fylorn, the Elven city that stands at the base of Dead Rock pass. From there, my army will travel through the pass out into the open plains of Amnar. On this plain, I predict, King Zenthar, ruler of all Amnar, will stand with his army before the great city of Durithan."
They will fall, thought Calbatoz. He breathed in, the smell of slave blood, deep within the air, reached his senses. The rich smell overwhelmed him with excitement. Beneath him, Kron shuddered, his massive form anxious, as he unfolded his wings until they outstretched completely. Calbatoz rose up in the ornate saddle securely fastened to Kron, and spoke loud, with help from his Talent. His voice so loud every one of his soldiers heard his words.
"The time for battle has come! We must attack by surprise if we are to conquer York. We will rise today and destroy those who wish to stop our glory. We will take our rightful positions and I shall be your profound King!" The words echoed with such ferocity the earth trembled. The army of the dark responded with a deafening roar, clanging weapons on shields and pounding the earth. Kron leapt into the air as the last words were spoken, fire escaping from his jaws. Beneath, another roar sounded. The army was ready.
Kron flew over the jagged cliff faces climbing higher into the sky. Calbatoz watched as over 60,000 figures moved towards the east where the city of York lay. They would arrive just before sunset, the perfect time for battle. Calbatoz thirsted for battle, he had spent the last twelve years waiting for revenge, revenge on the king who had banished him from his lands. He was far stronger now, and he would overpower the foolish king.
As the army marched on, no one noticed as a man slipped out of their formations and blended into the shadows of the nearby cliff face. The man waited patiently until everyone had moved out of sight. Then, cautiously, he followed the army until they reached the forest edge. Here he broke from the path, and turned to travel northward to Arandale, a small city that was built centuries ago to protect the isolated northern communities. He was more interested in the fact that it was now home to a thriving spy network. He hoped to send a runner to Fylorn and warn them of the battle, and another to the king's city, Durithan, to prepare his people for battle. It was too late to send a runner to York, and he feared the worst.
When he reached Arandale, he traveled to the nearest tavern where he found two messengers that would deliver his warnings. They set off immediately. The man was relieved to have his mission finished, as he had spent the last three years within the ranks of the dark army, picking up bits and pieces of their plans to attack. He had tried to find a way out of the army's encampment, but he could not do so without being noticed. Glancing around the crowded tavern, he saw no familiar faces. Good. He ambled over to the serving bar and motioned for a drink. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat, and warmed his insides. Life had been hard in the dark army, and though war was coming, he was glad for this moment of respite. He ordered another, savoring the taste. Duty bound, he turned away from the bar, set down his empty mug, and walked out into the night. He walked away from the inn and down the darkened road to the town center. As he crossed the cobblestone street toward the narrow alleyway, he started as something rasped behind him. He whipped around, instinctively pulling his dagger out holding it in front of him ready for trouble, but nothing was there....nothing moved. "It's nothing" he said to himself, "Nothing to worry about." He sheathed the dagger, berating himself for being foolishly over-anxious, and continued down the alleyway.
In a sudden flurry of movement, a hand wrenched across his face, covering his mouth and a knife was pressed tightly to his throat. Eyes wide with fear, the man tried to break free and scream but the hand clenched even tighter, the keen knife blade drawing a fine line of blood at his throat. "Don't move" a voice sounded beside the man's head. "Finally I've found you, after all.....these.....years. Welcome home Cedric."
