“Yeah, teatime with the man-eating Scavs,” chuckled Rodney.
Prologue — Cauis. Mark of the Shadow — Book 1 of the Phantom Lord of Shadows Saga.
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“Enmity has the cunning ability to crush a virtuous man’s most noble intent into a series of ruinous misfortunes. If a man should fall to it, he is doomed to become the very demon he set out to ruin...”
The Champion’s Oath — 5th verse
As the first light of dawn approached, the twin moons of Elyora dimmed, their once luminous, pale glow gradually waning before the emerging brilliance of an early morning sun in the Kingdom of Quilendell. The horizon blushed with hues of pink and orange, heralding a new day as Caius Tremedian, the King’s Champion, lay on a ridge a league out of the city, taking stock of a peculiar scene unfolding in the valley below—Scavs.
“Clearly, Ned’s decided it was time for a picnic in the woods,” Darnell said, his deep voice resonating through the somber atmosphere. The tall, dark-skinned man had a talent for sarcasm, which he employed at every opportunity.
“Yeah, teatime with the man-eating Scavs,” chuckled Rodney, giving his companion a playful shove. “Relax. He’s only been gone fifteen minutes, but honestly I’d have finished by now with time to spare.” Rodney said, tossing his wavy blond locks out of his face.
“Such propitious thinking, Rod. You’d be lucky to see beyond that mane of yours,” said Darnell.
“Propitious?” Rodney said.
“Shall I explain it to you?” Darnell said.
“Don't bother, at least I still have my hair,” Rodney declared with a grin.
Caius half-expected Darnell to punch Rodney square in the face; his fists were clenched, and his eyes narrowed with intensity. To his astonishment, Darnell merely laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing as he shook his head with amusement.
“You’re learning, kronp,” Darnell remarked with a smile. “I’m pleased to see my Valoren ways are starting to rub off on you.
The pair shared a mischievous glance, but immediately abandoned their antics upon receiving a stern look from Caius. They fell silent, eyes observing the still forms of the Scavs below. After a few moments, Rodney piped up again.
“Should we check on him?”
“Hold position, men,” Caius said. “He’ll be back.”
He will be back, he thought, reciting it like a plea to the gods, his blood surging with each passing second. The ridge upon which they lay, was a mere fifteen feet above the Scavs, but trees, brush, and tall grass frequently took the spindly, stony-green creatures in and out of view, so he had sent Ned below to gauge the threat. A decision he hoped he wouldn’t live to regret.
Years ago Scavs had commonly defiled their lands in their relentless pursuit for treasure, but that had come to an end when High General Keiran Stone drove them back to their borders. Since then, the General and his militia of peacekeepers had kept them at bay. Finding them here, a league outside the capital, wasn't just unheard of—it was impossible.
His gaze locked on a banner planted boldly among them. The runes emblazoned on it were foreign and indecipherable, yet at its center, a shadowy mark rotated on an unseen axis. What significance did this symbol hold, and what purpose brought them to Quilendell? How had they eluded the militia? Questions raced through his mind like sand slipping through a sieve. However, before he could command a single thought, Ned finally dropped into position beside him.
“I reckon your strategy is to glare at them until they go away?” Ned remarked, his laughter rumbling through his dense black beard—a trait which occasionally set Caius at odds with his old friend. His own blond beard never evolved much beyond a wimpy stubble.
“We’re waiting on you,” Rodney said. “What took you so long?”
“There’s loads of the little runts down there,” Ned said. “At least sixty, but there could be more. I watched at least a dozen walk off into those trees before I could finish counting, but as far as I can tell, the majority are standing down there in that formation.”
“Did you catch a glimpse of their Might One?” Caius asked, it was a term the Scavs had coined for the leaders of their clans.
“Not that I could see,” Ned said. “No orders given or received, even when a portion of them broke off into the woods there. They just started marching into the trees of their own accord.”
“I did notice something a little strange though,” Ned said. “Their eyes were wrong.”
“What about them?” Caius asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Well, the color’s all wrong,” Ned said, “Their eyes were darker, almost violet. Every Scav I’ve ever encountered has always had vivid yellow eyes, without exception.”
Darnell and Rodney nodded in agreement, and Caius remembered it too. His eyes meticulously examined the scav’s eyes while surveying the lush valley below. He couldn’t quite make out the deep violet hue, but Ned was right; their eyes lacked the same bright yellow luster. It was so obvious to him now he wondered how he had missed it.
Caius released a wan smile to put his men at ease although his instincts screamed at him to act. His hands drifted to a rolled parchment in a purse tied to his belt. He didn’t need to pull it out to know what it said. The instruction, sealed with High General Stone’s family crest, contained only nine words—Munher Ridge. Dawn. Tell no one. Burn the letter.
And so far Caius had obeyed all of the general’s orders, save the last one. He couldn’t really put a pin on why, but his gut told him he should keep it.
“But why are they just standing there like that?” Rodney asked.
“I don’t know,” Caius said. “But I don’t like it. There’s fifteen of us and over sixty of them. If it was half that number, I would feel a little more confident. Darnell, return to the city and sound the alarm. I want reinforcements here within the hour.”
“Sure thing, kronp,” Darnell said. “I’m on it.”
Darnell jumped to his feet and ran off down to the base of the ridge, where they had left their steeds and the other soldiers.
“Forget reinforcements,” Ned said. “We should strike now. The mere presence of Scavs in Quilendell breaks at least ten different laws, and in their current condition, a little shove and a slash and they’ll topple right over.”
Caius understood Ned’s predisposition. Ned had been a child during the height of the Clan Wars nearly thirty years ago, and had grown a natural distrust of the creatures. Not two years ago the three of them had been engaged in bloody conflicts on the Scav borders in the High General’s militia. That had changed of course, when Caius was named the Champion of Quilendell. Gone were the days of camaraderie and warfare. In its place was a vast and immutable courtly existence in Quilendell. Ned missed their past life. In truth, Caius missed it too. It beckoned him like a soft yet insistent whisper carried by the wind. However, as a Champion, he could no longer yield to such primal desires. He had sworn an oath to uphold peace, and the creed of a Champion emphasized that seeking conflict as a first recourse was tantamount to defeat.
“Not yet, my friend,” Caius said firmly.
“And if they attack?” Ned said.
“Then the Light of Inari preserve us,” Caius said, tracing a circle around his heart and pressing a dot in its center.
“Calling upon the Lady’s light?” Ned said, chuckling.
“We’re going to need all the help we can get,” Rodney said, mirroring Caius and tracing the symbol over his own heart.
Footsteps hurried up the slope behind them drawing their attention away from the Scavs. Darnell had returned, but far quicker than expected, with a good-sized platoon of men in tow.
“Seems our reinforcements have arrived, Cass,” Ned said, slapping him on the back.
“But who is that with him?” Rodney asked, his eyes squinting trying to get a better view.
“It’s the ole’ Scav Butcher himself,” Ned said excitedly.
“Gamaliel?” Rodney said, scoffing. “Shouldn’t he be busy guarding the princess?”
“Guess he heard there were Scavs in town and couldn’t resist,” Caius said.
Caius stepped forward to greet the older man. Despite Gamaliel’s large frame, the old man, dressed in sable and gold, glided up the slope while his compatriots trudged along behind him, their feet kicking up small clouds of dust with each step. The contingent, which included at least thirty men, finished their ascension with worn expressions, likely the aftermath of a night spent in revelry.
“Gamaliel, you old greybeard, you’ve come at just the right time,” Ned said, slapping Gamaliel on the back to which the old man returned a nimble nod.
“I’m surprised to see you back so quickly,” Caius said. “But pleased just the same. Darnell, how did you manage it?”
“The King sent me to find his missing Champion,” Gamaliel said, his word cutting off Darnell’s chance to respond.
“The King!” Ned exclaimed. “The King doesn’t give two hoots about Caius, Champion, or not.”
“Ned,” Caius said. “Don't speak ill of the King.”
Ned nodded, but rolled his eyes like a crotchety child. As usual, Ned wasn’t wrong. It’s why Caius had chosen the man as one of his lieutenants. Ned had the ability to tell you like it was irregardless of feeling or custom. It was his greatest strength, and yet at the very same time his greatest weakness. Still, it was unwise to speak ill of a man who could just as easily cut off your head as a child picks a flower. In truth, Caius’ relationship with the King had become even more complicated. He had unexpectedly called off his betrothal to the King’s daughter, Princess Podostroma, and that had not done him any favors.
“Well it’s good we found you. Your man told me there was trouble brewing up here.”
“Yes we have a bit of a situation,” Rodney said, glancing over this shoulder.
“Situation?” Gamaliel asked, raising a white eyebrow.
“The kind of situation where you rain hell and ask questions later,” Ned said.
“Oh Ned, you do have a way with words,” Darnell said. “Don’t mind him, he’s referring to the throng of ravenous little Scavs over the ridge there.”
"Scavs?" Gamaliel called out, his voice carrying over the ridge. “And no one is watching the beasts?"
Without a moment's hesitation, Gamaliel rushed past them toward the edge of the ridge for a more detailed inspection. Under his cloak, knightly armor gleamed in the morning light, and a massive sword dangled from his waist. He wrenched the sword free from its sheath and held it aloft. Caius noticed a blue gemstone set in its hilt that hadn’t been there before. It shimmered with an otherworldly light.
“Prepare to figh—"
Gamaliel's words were cut short when an explosion of dust and debris erupted as the Scavs surged up the ridge in all directions, their agile bodies maneuvering the rocky terrain with terrifying speed. Caius cursed, swiftly unsheathing Havashal, the champion's blade. Forged from the finest steel, its edge was honed to a razor's precision, capable of cleaving through metal and bone alike. With a decisive strike, he scalped a Scav, sending it tumbling down the ridge. He raised the blade to strike again, but one of the Scavs leapt on his back, with a strength that defied its small frame, and Caius felt the sharp sting of its teeth piercing through his chainmail.
Caius grunted in pain and drove his elbow into the Scav's face, sending it sprawling. Desperately, he scanned the battlefield, searching for his comrades. In the chaos he hadn’t realized that he was almost completely isolated from the others. Gamaliel was embroiled in his own fight against three Scavs, his heavy sword slicing through them with deadly accuracy, with Darnell fighting fiercely by his side. He’d lost track of Ned and Rodney. There were just too many scavs surrounding him.
"Gamaliel! Darnell!" Caius yelled, desperately trying to be heard over the cacophony of snarls and growls. "On me!"
The two warriors approached Caius with measured steps, their eyes and swords working tirelessly to repel the onslaught. Forming a tight circle around him, they pressed their backs together, their united strength barely enough to stave off the advancing creatures.
"We can't hold them off for much longer," Darnell grunted, his face dripping with sweat and determination.
Caius nodded grimly. They needed a plan, and fast.
Unexpectedly, a Scav yanked Caius's feet out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Struggling to regain his footing amidst the chaos, he felt a sharp pang as he realized Havashal was no longer in his grasp. His sword had been knocked from his hand and now lay several yards away, partially buried in loose dirt. In a desperate scramble, he sought to reclaim his weapon, but the Scavs swarmed around it and the blade was lost from view.
Caius, now weaponless and driven to the edge of the ridge, assessed his precarious situation. The ridge below dropped steeply into the ravine, offering little hope of survival should he fall. Gamaliel and Darnell stepped in front of him, their swords raised high in a last stand against the encroaching Scavs.
"Stay close to me," Gamaliel growled through gritted teeth, his gaze hard and determined. "We'll fight our way out of this."
Caius took a deep breath, steeling himself for his inevitable fate. This was not how he had envisioned the end of his journey, but he was prepared for whatever lay ahead.
Caius stepped back, feeling the ground crumble beneath his feet as he struggled to avoid tumbling over the ridge's edge, when a figure burst through the Scavs in front of them on horseback. It was Ned, a more welcome sight than any reinforcement they could have imagined. His presence was commanding, mounted on the powerful steed, and he wielded deadly steel in each hand—Havashal in his right, and his own sword in his left.
With a mighty shout that pierced through the din of battle, Ned barreled into the fray. His horse, well-trained and fierce, trampled several Scavs underfoot, its hooves dealing lethal blows. The Scavs, momentarily stunned by the ferocious cavalry charge, stumbled back. Ned pushed his mount harder, cutting through the swarm of Scavs with surgical precision in order to reach the beleaguered trio. Havashal shimmered in his grip as he dispatched enemies with effortless grace.
"We need to get off this ledge!" Caius shouted, hope rekindling in his chest.
Together, they fought their way towards the safety of Ned's mount, each strike bringing them one step closer to victory. But just when they thought they were in the clear, a tiny Scav lunged from the tall grass at Ned's horse, striking its exposed neck. Ned swiftly stabbed the offending Scav, slaying the creature, but it was too late.The horse cried out in agony, reared up and tossed Ned from its back before collapsing in a pool of its own blood.
“No!” Caius shouted.
Caius pushed through his comrades and rushed toward Ned, but as he did he felt a sharp, searing pain in his back. He glanced down to see a slender blade protruding through his chest. The Scavs didn't wield traditional weaponry, leading to one singular conclusion—he had been betrayed. The blade was withdrawn as swiftly as it had struck, and the excruciating pain sent him staggering to his knees, blood gushing from the wound. Desperately, he tried to identify his assailant, but his vision blurred, and the world around him swayed and spun.
"Caius!" Ned's voice broke through the chaos like a lifeline, before appearing at his side.
But for Caius, the battle was already over, and he didn't have much time. With what strength that remained, Caius broke the pouch from his belt, his bloodstained fingers forcing it into Ned's hand.
"Trust no one..." Caius gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Promise me..."
Caius recognized a blend of sorrow and resolve as his friend accepted the pouch. "I promise, brother," Ned said, his voice breaking.
Caius managed a faint, grateful smile before the light in his eyes finally flickered out.
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I enjoyed the overall story of the Prologue. It was a little wordy in places, but the overall story was enjoyable. One question, If the Scav jumped on his back and bit his chain mail, how can he drive his elbow into the Scav's face?
"He raised the blade to strike again, but one of the Scavs leapt on his back, with a strength that defied its small frame, and Caius felt the sharp sting of its teeth piercing through his chainmail.
Caius grunted in pain and drove his elbow into the Scav's face,"