A Sacrifice for Varkanah (On Indefinite Hold)

A Sacrifice for Varkanah Chapter 3

Chapter III

Drennan Randsly rode down the gradual hill upon which the tiny village of Valdi was built. He rode slowly, thinking silently about the task he had been given. He was supposed to catch up to Saeran, his cousin, but his father had not even told him why! It must have something to do with those black-robed men, Drennan thought.

The sun was beginning to set, and Drennan was not the best rider in the village. He was not bad, of course, for all Valdians were raised from birth to care and ride horses. Despite this, though, Drennan did not wish to risk riding in the dark, particularly with those men around.

The young boy was just over a mile from town, when he began thinking about his mother and three sisters. He thought of how furious mother would be if he left without even telling her where he was going! If he turned back, he would lose some time, and it would take longer to catch Saeran, but that was a small matter when compared to mother’s wrath. Drennan pulled on his horse’s reins and turned back.

He gently nudged Seralia into a trot and then a gallop, riding swiftly towards Valdi. Seralia was heavy, black, bay horse. She was named for a word of the ancient Esterelves—Eastern Elves, that is—which meant slow. Drennan did not know this, of course, and just thought the word sounded pretty.

Seralia’s hooves pounded the yellow prairie grass, covering the distance quickly, despite the name. Soon Drennan arrived in Valdi. He noticed a definite lack of persons in the streets there, likely due to the arrival of the strangers. Drennan again wondered what they came for.

He rode through the empty streets, the only thing breaking the absolute silence being Seralia’s hooves against the cobblestones. When he arrived at the little, thatch-roofed house, Drennan immediately noticed that something was wrong. The front door was wide open, the wind pushing it back and forth and making the hinges creak.

Drennan dismounted Seralia and hastily tied her to a post in the front yard. He rushed into the house, closing the door behind him. “Mother?” he called. “Odella? Cendalla? Glimma?” he shouted his sisters’ names. There was no answer, only silence. Drennan grabbed a candle from a table and ran up the stairs to the next floor. He repeated his calls, again to no avail.

He searched desperately through all of their rooms, throwing the doors open and looking inside. He hesitated for a moment in front of his mother and father’s room, as he was not supposed to go into it without their consent, but the sheer fright at not being able to find his family overpowered his parents’ wishes. He checked the room and again found it empty.

Sweat dribbled down Drennan’s young, unblemished face. He was almost sick with the worry. Then he heard a rumbling downstairs. He heard Seralia whinny from outside. And was that smoke he was smelling?

There was maniacal laughter coming from downstairs, and the odor was growing definitely stronger. There was pounding on the stairs and he heard a man’s voice yelling, “There’s a light up here, Tradon! I don’t think this one’s empty.” The voice was coarse and rough.

Drennan panicked. He was scrambling about his parents’ room, trying to find a place to hide from the people coming up the stairs. Then Drennan saw his father’s ceremonial sword hanging upon the wall above their bed. William was the Master-at-arms of Valdi’s militia, and this was the blade he used during parades and other such activities. It wasn’t a very strong blade, but it was exquisitely decorated, with golden vines running down the blade itself.

Drennan jumped on the bed and pulled the blade from its resting place on a shelf above the bed, just as the men he had heard speaking came into view in the doorway of the bedroom. The were clothed in pitch black robes, their pale, scarred faces in stark contrast with their clothing. There were two men there, and one of them pulled a dull axe from his side as the other held a hefty mace, its head covered in vicious spikes.