A Kingdom Eclipsed by Moonlight - Book 1

Chapter Four - The Arrogance of Kings

Chapter Four - The Arrogance of Kings

Torin

Fey-Touched Passage was suitably named.

Remnants of the First Race, the Fey, echoed from the surrounding structures. Decaying buildings hummed with life. Faint laughter could be heard from the crumbling houses, and the woods themselves are still too untamed and too ethereal to be solely made from human hands.

These lands have long been abandoned.

Some attempted to claim them after the Fey fled to exile, but they found that magic continued to loiter. Even without the Fey to wield it, magic stubbornly clung to the land and as if acting out to take vengeance for the fallen.

History claimed that supernatural incidences had plagued the human settlement; those who drank from the wells slowly became blind, the livestock became mad and turned to eat the herd, and during the lushest, bountiful summers, farmers would dig their fingers into the soil, their fingers coming back sopping wet with blood.

This valley echoed with suffering. With injustice. With the loss of beauty and magic from the world.

A great war was fought here centuries ago at Fey-Touched Passage. The spirits of the fallen moan from beneath my feet; crying out in rage and agony. The spirit of the Fey cannot be freed unless burned and ashes spread and returned to the earth.

The mortals were aware and yet decided not to bury them, trapping the dead in the hellish existence of never finding true peace. Time had swallowed the bodies deeper into the earth, making it impossible for us to save those lost souls.

The earth did not stop there. Nature always finds a way to reclaim what was once stolen, devouring the bones of the misplaced and reforming over the twisted carcasses of the ill-fated, so much spilled Fey blood transforming the landscape entirely.

We approached the forest. I surveyed the seemingly innocent foliage with caution, but the trees seemed to become more alert at our arrival.

A crunching sound emanated from deep into the heart of the forest. Within me, Apollo's hackles rose.

I rode with my army behind me. I could not ask for more loyal and dedicated soldiers. Other kings command their people to fight for them, their country, and the people and sit by the sides. I did not intend to sit,

I intend to lead. As their king, their Nysurria, I will aid them to victory.

We are not fighting for glory or conquest; we are fighting to set an example for anyone who deems Rhageon, not a threat. We are fighting to change how history will remember us; instead of the backward savages, we will be righteous. We will be more. We will be the heroes the generations after us when we are nothing but ashes on the wind. Our names will be honored.

Suddenly, a thick, ropey root began to protrude from the earth. I could smell the anxiety coming from the desert horses. They danced from the roots attempting to wrap around their legs.

"Hiyah! Soldiers cut the roots! Save the horses!" I yelled.

I took out my jardee and grabbed Khalid's reins. Slashing at the roots, I heard the other warriors doing the same. Every time I slashed, the roots shriveled and died off. Khalid's hooves slammed down and stopped a few from dragging him down.

After a few minutes, the attack stopped.

Jumping off the stallion's back, I peered down, assessing for damage.

Khalid had red marks and shallow cuts on his legs, but that was minimal.

Looking around, I noted that there were no major casualties. Some were visually shaken up, both human and horse, but no one could have been prepared to be attacked with magic.