The Easel Chronicles: The Golden Gates Book One

By Samuel S.B.

The dark land of the South is awake and ready for war...

The Northern lands of Elasia stand threatened by an ancient evil...

One hidden prince must rise up and do what all his forefathers feared. Aravoen must take the journey to unite the kingdoms and defeat Sarzgat lord of the South...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raider Publishing International
• Release date: Jan 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301039265

Book preview

Prologue

Aravoen watched with the anger slowly building up inside him. How could they just sit and watch the murder of a young and innocent boy? All in the name of capturing this mad man, this vile beast.

Seriously, Captain, Aravoen whispered.

Hush! a tall elf with silver hair snapped.

Aravoen just sat back in his saddle. They watched as what appeared to be an initiation ceremony started. The young boy was bound roughly over the stone table where the blood mage sat.

Be still, young boy, Maxine whispered to Aravoen. The soft pressure of her hands on his shoulder released the tension in him somewhat.

You know, Aravoen whispered to her, he is just a boy. No wrongs at all. We cannot sit back and do nothing. You elves believe in the greater good, is it not?

Yes, Maxine whispered back. Our main aim is the blood mage, Aravoen. Not the silly child. This is our only chance and Lord Modrin would expect nothing less. And you young Aravoen, who serves under the house of Stareonor, best remember that.

Why should I?

You two! The captain turned his grey eyes on them. Captain Illad was a domineering elf man. His gracious build was only more imposing of his character. His hand held the pommel of his blade ready to strike at the right moment.

Aravoen and Maxine fell silent like the rest of their band: a strong group of elves and one half elven. Aravoen had left his home in the north some eight years ago. He had trained enough in the barracks of Elvhelm. And this was the first assignment he had been given since he arrived as a young boy of five.

This group had trained for the past eight years, and the bond of family that kept them together was stronger than ever before.

Down in the clearing the blood mage studied the boy’s features. His young, innocent, green eyes frightened by the sight of orcs and uruks.

Let me go, he whispered, tears springing to his eyes. The blood mage stifled a laugh at the boy’s fear. He smiled showing his yellowed teeth to the boy; his smile touching his blood shot eyes and giving his hair a slight twinge to it.

Get my knife and the pot, he cried to the uruk next to where the boy was bound. He slowly fingered his staff, reciting a small incantation of calmness to sooth the unlucky child.

Aravoen could not take it anymore. He cursed under his breath, knowing he would be punished for insubordination. Leaning over Elben he grabbed his bow from the pouch right next to his boot. He pulled back as silently as he could, aiming for the uruk that held the boy’s bindings. Raising his aim a little higher, he let loose just as Maxine’s hand pushed his hands down.

What are you doing?

Saving the boy. Aravoen freed himself from her grip and kicked Elben into a gallop. He did not care if the uruks saw him. He even heard the cursing of Captain Illad as he rushed down the toll into the clearing.

The shock on the blood mage’s face was not mistaken. He slowly raised his staff, sending a bolt of fire at Aravoen who slid to the side as it passed. He unsheathed his blade bringing it down on the uruk holding the boy now. He felt his blade make contact, but not enough to draw blood.

What was taking them so long? Where was his company? As if to answer his thoughts, he heard Maxine strike an orc that was just ready to throw him off Elben. He smiled as she slew every unearthly beast in sight.

Aravoen saw the mage dart into the trees as the battle raged between the orcs, uruks and the other forty-nine of his companions. He jumped off Elben to chase the mage. Kicking an orc out of his way, darting aside from one humongous uruk, and swiping another orc in the hip, Aravoen plunged into the trees after the mage.

He ran following the black cloak trying to gain on the mage. After an eternity, his breath was laboured and he came to a halt. His senses were dulled by fatigue, but he strained his eyes looking around him.

You! a harsh voice came from the trees around him. You think you can catch me alone. It is not in your path to kill me or catch me boy. You are nothing but a fool.

Come out. Aravoen struggled to keep his voice even.

Aravoen, youth of the north, the mage mocked.

Face me! Aravoen’s temper was on his sleeve.

Look at you. The mage laughed. I will kill you, but you’re not mine. However, I will take this pleasure in hurting you. Look, your elf protectors surround us. You’re a child that needs protection.

With a cry of frustration, Aravoen rushed into the trees, bumping into someone. He let himself up to see a red light disappear a few paces away from them. He disentangled himself and shoved himself up. He kicked the branch near his foot in anger.

You foolish, vile idiot from Eduin, Castor snapped at him, picking twigs from his hair.

I’m sure he will accept whatever put on him, Maxine cut in, trying to restore calm.

Yes, the cool voice of Illad scared them.

* * *

Aravoen had grown since those earlier years. He had left the elf homeland soon after that incident. All he had received for saving the boy was anger, resentment and blunt refusal of re-entry into the blessed lands. He had sought his way in life the past twenty years.

He stared across the La Mamorin looking back to the lands of the north. Somewhere that side his home lay. He had not seen it for the last eighty-eight years.

Slowly he removed the greaves on his arms, casting them over the cliff into the angry black waters. Slowly he unsheathed the blade he had received from the elves all those years ago, and also dropped it down. He listened to its whisper as it made its way to the sea. He heard the whispered splash as it slowly made contact.

He looked over the cliffs to the Ebrithian shores. He spied the little boat landing just below where he stood; his carriage home. He turned to Elben and smiled.

Home, he elated. The fields of Cair Sandor shall soon know us again.

1

The green fields of Cair Sandor are ever peaceful at this time. The soft Zephyr swept through, making the green spears dance. The blazing sun highlighted the fading and ruined wall of the once great city of Cair Sandor.

Once there had been seven great cities in the north western Kingdom of Eduin: Cair Eandor, Cair Illari, Cair Andir, Cair Landalin, Cair Anduri, Cair Islanod and Cair Sandor. That had been in the times of the kings, but now only Cair Sandor stood. It had become the home of the hidden princes that continued the line of the kings.

Lady Eleonor stood facing south in the direction of the caves of Sidra. Her once black hair was full of streaks of grey. This had become her daily ritual for the past ninety-three years. Her son Aravoen had left then to look for glory.

Slowly her thoughts turned to her dead husband, Amroth. He had died so young and entrusted her with the most precious jewel of Eduin: the Star Edelstein. He had told her to pass it on to Aravoen when the time was right. Deep in her thoughts, she did not notice her hand slowly move to the gem held around her neck by a thin silver filament. With a sigh, she turned around and walked towards the city, giving up hope of her son that day. As she passed the ruined arch, she remembered that she had to meet the Eluncil of Eduin.

She followed the path and turned off in the direction of the royal chambers. Still, her mind was disturbed. Almost ninety-three years ago, her son, Aravoen, had left, just like his father, in search of honour and glory, the same reason his father used, and he returned a great Lord of Eduin. Now she feared that her son was dead. A strong firm grip on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts. She turned around, ready to breathe fire at this insolent, rude person. However, her eyes met calm, resilient, hazel eyes.

A schori andic deri hamandord, the owner of the eyes soothed.

Mendrek, Eleonor raved, you do not know how disturbed I am.

Atei, he persisted.

He gently led her on to her chambers where he left her to relax. In the whole city, this was the only place that she felt safe, free from the eyes and ears of the Eluncil. Her chamber was soft; a large bed that was once occupied by her and Amroth stood in the middle of the room, Hangings of soft velvet covered the window, and a small writing table with quills and paper stood opposite the window with a blown out candle.

She made her way to the bed and lay there for some time between sleep and reality. A light tap at the door and a clear ringing voice brought her fully down to Earth.

The Eluncil awaits you, My Lady, it announced. She slowly got up and walked to the door, opening it. Before her stood a tall, sinewy young man. ‘Softfoot’ - that is what everyone called him. He was the Eluncil messenger. If you will follow me, My Lady, he whispered. Her cool blue eyes rested on his large brown eyes and this made him unsettled.

A schori le yat, she said to him, suddenly brushing past him and heading in the direction of tree hall. In the centre of the city stood the foot of a great tree. The enormous buttress roots formed archways, and in each archway stood a door of weeds which separated as a person approached. This was one of the few remaining works of the high elves in Elasia.

The interior of the hall was such that a great round table and small throne like seats around the table were all joined by a single cord of hard weed. A few metres away from the table, on a small pedestal, two thrones stood: one for the king, the other for the queen. Today all the seats at the table were full. Eleonor took her place on one of the thrones.

Now, I believe we can call this session to order, said a soft-spoken, ageing, but muscular man. His short grey hair highlighted his well-structured face with a hooknose. His overlapping red robes did not match his pale complexion. Now, My Lady, you must wonder why I called this meeting.

I still wonder Sedranor, Eleonor said with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

My Lady, said another old man, calm yourself. We are friends to you and your house. His strong voice was that of a general. His face was calm and friendly.

As I was saying, Sedranor went on, the people are losing faith. It has been years since our Lord Aravoen left. People are talking; they are scared.

What are you saying? Eleonor cut him short.

What Sedranor is saying, a soft-spoken, bald-headed, but beautiful woman in a sea-blue dress interjected, is that when you die, someone has to take up the throne. And we have a suggestion. Maybe… She held back because of the piercing look that Eleonor gave her.

I should become lord when you join our glorious ancestors, Sedranor finished for her with a smile on his face.

You support this all of you? Eleonor inquired, looking from one member to the other to be certain. Even you Rithin? she asked, with a bit of betrayal in her tone. Not all the council members could look at her.

Atei, said a voice in the shadow. Eleonor looked searchingly into the shadows of the archways. Mendrek came out holding his long wizard’s staff before him. With a wave of his hand, he conjured up a small stool beside Eleonor and sat there. He looked at the council members before he spoke again.

What you seek to do is unwise, he said curtly.

You do not tell us what to do wizard, spat a greying woman

Menandra, Rithin cautioned, you do not speak to a wizard like that. Maybe he has a point,

Oh, Rithin, said an old man in a midnight-black tunic. Let us not forget that you were against this idea of Sedranor succeeding Eleonor.

Lady Eleonor, Eleonor, who had been seated in silence, snapped. Do not forget who you talk about. I am your queen and do not forget that. You dare not, she added, getting up and walking towards the table. And as for this matter, my answer is no. Straight forward and simple no! She banged her small fist on the table.

You are in no such position to oppose our decision, My Lady, said another man who was part of the council.

I believe that she is, said a woman with long, curly, sandy-brown hair. And I too, like Rithin, do not support this idea. It is outrageous and inappropriate.

Akasha, said Sedranor, waving his hand to silence the argument. It is only you, Rithin and Teymr who argued against it.

And rightly so, Eleonor said through clenched teeth, still seething with anger. How can you? All of you? You swore to my late husband that you would only preserve the line of Eduin. And now you break that oath.

Mendrek himself sits silent, said Sedranor. If even he is not questioning our decision, who are you to? he asked venomously, looking her straight in the eye.

My silence is not consent! an outraged Mendrek said, standing to his full height. You do not dare use it for your selfish plans. Ever! he added, scaring all who were standing to sit apart from Eleonor.

The lordship of Eduin, Eleonor began, is for the line of Amleth son of Eldon, who in turn is the founder of this line. Only a member of that line may take that right. He or she is not made, but is born to it and I believe you are not that person.

And the lines of Ebrithia and Elliyon who head them now? asked Menandra. Are they not ruled by men who are not members of this cursed line from Ebillon?

You dare slander the great house of our kingdom, Eleonor began, the anger in her rising at a terrific speed.

If I am to correct you, My Queen, the man in midnight-black said, is not the line hidden? You forget it is the hidden prince now, not king.

And yet you seek to sit on this throne Sedranor? Eleonor sputtered.

To preserve the years of tradition that has made us stand apart from Elliiyon and Ebrithia. Sedranor said.

We do not need to waste time here madam, Raspian said aloud.

I know, but unlike you Raspian, and the rest of you, I have hope, she replied

Have your hope then, Sedranor said. Our minds are made up.

Eleonor went over to her chair and sat next to Mendrek. He held her hands and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Slowly her mind wandered back to that fateful day: the day Aravoen had left Eduin. His coal-black hair, which was short, and his rosy cheeks: still a figure of youth. He was tall and sinewy for his age. A true replica of Amroth, but some ancient people said he looked like their great ancestor Eldon the last and surviving prince of the drowned empire of Ebillon.

How she wished to see him now. To see the man he had become after all these years. She was sure that he was still in his youth, thanks to the blessings of old given to them by the high elves. Their race was blessed with longevity, which was dwindling now. She remembered his last words to her.

Indor sedir sorer, she said aloud, without meaning to. However, she went on, A wia denimar, A esidim. She fell silent and tears began rolling down her cheeks as she silently sobbed. Suddenly she looked up and stared at the council members, a mixture of anger, sadness and hope in her eyes. Sedir, she said, her voice close to a whisper. Fe deri indor notil a indor sedir un a wia gerfi do le eiolito. The way she said these words left the Eluncil speechless. Silence enveloped the room.

Stop. They heard the guards outside the hall shout. They heard a small scuffle before the door flew open and in galloped a hooded rider.

Rithin was the first to react, drawing his broad sword from its sheath. Halt, do not come closer.

Put the sword away, Rithin, the hooded rider said. He led his horse towards the throne where Eleonor was seated, ignoring everyone else inside the hall. As if to counter the rider, Eleonor stood up and walked towards the rider, head held high and eyes still shinning with tears.

Sorer imbil ci, he said, getting off the horse. He knelt and caught her eyes, Sorer. Eleonor could not believe her ears. Slowly, she removed the hood from the stranger’s head, and it was as if her own blue eyes were staring back at her. His beard was full, his hair long, his once carefree and reckless eyes weary, calm, watchful and tired.

Ior edel, she said, getting down on her knees and pulling her son into a tight motherly embrace. Ior Aravoen, she said through her sobs of sadness. Deri indor imiail.

The Eluncil was shocked.

2

The news of Aravoen’s return spread through the city like a wildfire. Soon people were coming to the royal chambers to have a glimpse of their lord. How the once quiet city of Cair Sandor had become lively with riders coming in from all corners of the earth.

Aravoen sat in his chambers, looking at the once familiar things: his warm bed, the linen sheets, the parchment, and his tube. He had fond memories of that tube. His father had given it to him the night before he left. Amroth had told him that it would make all his fears, problems and anger go away and indeed, it had done so following the next months before a young Aravoen learnt of his father’s death and left for Elvhelm.

He held the thin, hollow musical tube in his hands, lifted it to his lips and played a soft tune, imagining a beautiful spring day. The rain puttering the ground gently and making his light clothes wet. At last all the hardships he had gone through were far away from him in another land. He played on, savouring every moment of peace that it brought.

A light tap on his back brought him back to Earth. He turned around and saw his mother and Mendrek looking at him with joy in their eyes.

Nice to see you still know how to play that tube, his mother said.

"Those