flight01


		The Jalahai Saga

			By Christopher P Bartlett

	Book One: Flight From Darkness

Chapter One: From Across the Great Sea The wind from across the Great Sea brought many things. It propelled the fishing boats, scouring the depths for all manner of aquatic life, allowing them to reach far and wide to provide food for the people of Traimont. With its gusts and swirls, it powered the mills scattering the coastline, from the Traim Peninsula in the north, to the great port city of Flavium in the far south. These mills ground the wheat to make the famed Lonmian bread that graced the breakfast tables of half the continent of Sotramar. In these ways, the wind brought life to the people living in its path. However, this fateful summer, it brought far darker things, that would take the lives of many of the inhabitants of the peaceful land. This was no ordinary wind, for it brought only pain and suffering. The first poor unfortunates to feel its wrath were the Traimontese, a hardworking people, living along the life- giving waters of the River Tora, who were unsuspecting as to the proximity of their doom. On this wind, blowing strongly from the northwest, the great fleet of Raevan Halfclaw had approached swiftly. He saw the conquest as his people’s liberation, restoring the rightful heir to the throne of Traimont. He had been taught from birth that one of his line would raise a great army and reclaim the lands of Sotramar for the descendants of Saekryn. A ruthless and cunning warrior, he saw no reason why he should not fulfil his family’s destiny. Thus he sailed with dozens of ships, thousands of his Vesperic Knights, and sought what he knew to be his by right. The wind from across the Great Sea often brought storms that wrought havoc with the coastal villages. The storm now approaching was unlike any they had ever seen, and none could say if they would survive to see it break. * * * * * Jalahai stood up, trying to get the blood flowing in his cramped limbs. He stretched his arms, and looked out of the dismal hole that passed for a window in his cell. From his high vantage-point, he could see the New City of Toraquai stretching out before him in the morning light. Before him lay the dishevelled ruins of the Traimonian Brotherhood barracks, where until recently he had been stationed as one of the protectors of Toraquai. It had been one of the focal points of the Vesperic Knights when they stormed the city; the Brotherhood had been massacred, save the few now shackled in this prison. The once proud spire of the north wing was now on the verge of collapse, the tower of the south wing had been raised to the ground. When he looked at the rubble at night, he swore he could see movement in the barracks, the ghosts of his brethren that still tried to fulfil their oaths of protection, guarding their beloved city even beyond death. Yet Jalahai knew it was wishful thinking. Even their great sacrifice had not been enough to stop Raevan Halfclaw in his desire to annihilate the Order. The tattered remnants of the Brotherhood had fled to Toraquai from cities already fallen under the boot of the Vesperic Knights, attempting to make a heroic defence. The few hundred survivors who made it to the capital alive spoke of the lightning fast strikes that had ripped away the defences of the coastal cities of Karraihala and Kheraima. They had driven straight for the capital, sweeping away any resistance before them, and despite Jalahai’s efforts in leading the Brotherhood and the ordinary citizens of Toraquai, the great capital city of Traimont had fallen. With that defeat, Jalahai knew the fate of his country was all but sealed. Raevan had rode in triumphantly, his bloodied sword a testament to the part he had played in the battle. He had gone straight to Toraq Palace on the hill overlooking the city, and there he had personally taken the head of the former king, Stajikai, the uncle of Jalahai. Raevan took up the Crown of Traimont and declared himself the lord of the entire kingdom. He claimed his direct lineage from Saekryn, in his view the rightful founder of the land. Then he gave the first decree of his reign, that all members of the ‘heretic’ Traimonian Brotherhood would be put to death, along with the followers of the Temple of Traimontai. He accused them of blasphemy and the righteous blades of the Vesperic Knights would cleanse them of their evil. Looking beyond the shattered remains of the barracks, Jalahai could make out the three spires of the Temple of Traimontai, still standing in defiance of Raevan. He realised that it would only be a matter of time before the Temple was destroyed, it was far too powerful a symbol to be left alone. Although the Brotherhood did not actively pray to Traimontai as the members of the Temple did, they all swore oaths of allegiance to the founder of their realm. Jalahai’s brother, Obakhai had joined the Temple as a child, a tradition among the first-borns of his family. He was also kept prisoner here, awaiting his death. Jalahai had not seen him since their arrival, but the guards had obviously recognised the family resemblance and made some mocking remarks about the fate that awaited him. Jalahai thought about the fact that the last time he would see his brother would be at their deaths. It was a chilling thought and he did his best to put it out of his mind. He turned away from the window, realising that seeing the reminders of how his dear city had been conquered would only bring him sorrow. He looked towards the door, a figure at the small opening. “Food time, scum,” said the guard. He threw a small piece of bread through the gap, followed by a cup of water. The cup hit the ground and the water drained away over the stone floor. “Oh, isn’t that unfortunate,” the guard sneered, “well, you’ll be dead tomorrow, so I don’t think it’s going to matter that much. Enjoy your meal.” He laughed, then carried on his rounds. Jalahai stared at the water trickling away, seeing his own life disappearing along with it. * * * * * Obakhai’s prayers were for his fellow countrymen and women, imprisoned in such desperate times. He prayed to his ancestors, the great Traimontai who had founded the realm so long ago. The Traimontese had coexisted with the neighbouring peoples of Sotramar for centuries, with only the occasional trade or border dispute. They had seldom undergone outright warfare. It was not until the departure of the power-hungry Saekryn that the people of this fertile continent had seen the need for protection. His threats of a victorious conquest had instilled fear in the nations that had previously been allies. As armies were trained and expanded, conflict was the inevitable result. Traimont had been attacked by the Sokathans on many occasions, thus the Traimonian Brotherhood had developed into the protectors of peace. With staunch allies from the people of Lonminium, the attacks had been beaten back, including the most recent battles fought by Obakhai’ s father. Yet generations had gone by, expecting the attack of the Saekrynians. The Traimontese people were ever watchful of the horizon over the Great Sea, but never really thinking the attack would come in their lifetime. Obakhai had been no exception. He had joined the Temple when he was a child, and had been taught the sacred prayers of the Founding Kings. His liturgies were directed to Traimontai, but similar prayers were devoted to the Kings who had long ago founded Lonminium, Sokath and the other free lands. His prayers were for the continued peace and prosperity that had characterised life on Sotramar since the time of his ancient ancestors. It seemed that finally the prayers were not enough. The attack of Raevan had come almost without warning, the fishing boats that worked the Great Sea had been chased down by the swift vessels of Raevan’s fleet. The Vesperic Knights had stormed ashore at Karraihala and Kheraima, taking those proud cities with almost no resistance. By the time members of the Traimonian Brotherhood from those cities had reached Toraquai, the crimson clad warriors were almost upon the city gates. The members of the Temple had been roused, Obakhai amongst them. They stood on the North West wall alongside the Brotherhood and the ordinary citizens, desperation making warriors out of them all. Women stood shoulder to shoulder with their men, and even some of the older children had taken up arms to fight. Toraquai would not be surrendered lightly, and indeed, in its capture, many brave citizens gave their lives. It was in vain however, for the Vesperic Knights were too well organised, too powerful, and struck as a lightning bolt. Evidently they had come prepared for the walled city of Toraquai, utilising siege engines to tear down the walls. Indeed, if Obakhai looked to the far edge of the city, he could see the scattered rubble that made up the wall. The Vesperic Knights were using enslaved members of the populace to rebuild the wall, and to ensure their new fortress was more formidable. Obakhai lamented the plight of his dear city. Many of his order had fallen, he had been one of the last defending his beloved Temple. Forced to surrender, he had been half-dragged through the city streets, along with the few dozen ‘heretics’ that were to be first imprisoned, and then executed. That was the last time he had seen the Temple of Traimontai, and also the last glimpse he had seen of his brother Jalahai. He made sure to ask their ancestors to watch over his brother, who had marshalled the last, defiant stand at the Temple. As members of the royal line, they presented a threat to the dominion being enforced by Raevan Halfclaw, and were therefore to be executed publicly, to shatter the remnants of the people’s spirit. Somehow, Obakhai’s faith would not let go, despite the fact that the next sunrise he saw would be his last. He would be reunited with his brother, and together, they would face the unknown future. * * * * * The throne room of Toraq Palace now bore the regalia of the Vesperic Knights and of their leader, Raevan Halfclaw. Raevan sat back in the throne, until recently occupied by King Stajikai, and surveyed the ornate celebration of the royalty of Traimont. On the wall rested the weapons of former kings, jewel-encrusted swords, halberds and spears. These he liked, they reflected his own admiration and reverence for the art of warfare, he decided he would keep the weapons there, possibly even take one for himself. Other trappings he was not interested in preserving. The gifts from the other kingdoms, tapestries woven in Sokath, finely crafted potteries from Lonminium, the great maps of Araimedes. All of these represented to Raevan the weaknesses of the Traimontese. Their trusting of the other lands, their fondness for arcane and useless wares. To think he was a distant cousin of these people made him wretch. He resolved to conduct a public burning of the so-called treasures of Traimont, as a sideshow to the executions. The executions… They were a necessary bother for Raevan. For while he could have simply had Jalahai and the other members of the royal line killed where they stood, he wished to send a message to their people. By forcing the populace to watch as their only link with their past was severed, they would lose all hope for a rebellion. The members of the royal family were revered like gods, remembered in the prayers of the people. Destroying them would remove the last hint of resistance, the people would be demoralised, and he could do with them as he pleased. Raevan smiled to himself, and looked out of the window towards the city, the sun just creeping over the distant horizon, bathing Toraquai in its comforting glow. He could hear the sounds of construction carrying on the breezes blowing in from the Great Sea. The sounds of his enemies’ destruction… He saw their faces as the axes fell, the citizens crying out, weeping, unbelieving, and revelled in it… He was woken from his daydream by a figure standing before him. He reluctantly left the scenes of death in his head and turned to see his brother, Draeval Darkflame. Draeval knelt before his brother and his king. The crimson gleam of his knight’s armour, reflecting the sunlight, was playing tricks of light on the marble floor of the throne room. The sword at his side rattled lightly in its scabbard, coming to rest as he stood again. “What news do you bring, brother?” asked Raevan, eyeing Draeval intently for any signs of his intentions. Ever since they were children, Raevan had always been able to predict his brother. “My liege, the construction of the platform continues on schedule, it will be ready by midday. May I suggest bringing forward the executions to today?” Raevan smiled and gently shook his head. “Dear brother, you must realise I am not just killing these people,” he stood up, and slowly walked down the stairs, his left hand, encased in an iron gauntlet resting limply at his side. He came face to face with Draeval, “I am removing the last traces of the old order. The people of this city, the whole population of this land must see their old way of life is at an end. They now exist solely to serve me. Don’t you see that?” “Yes, but my lord, surely there is a risk while they are still alive? Would it not be safer to remove that risk as soon as possible?” Raevan gave a hearty laugh. “My poor naïve sibling, I think a full regiment of my finest warriors can handle a dozen or so ragged, unarmed weaklings, you overestimate their strength.” He put his arm around Draeval, walking him over to the window. “Look here,” he continued, sweeping a metal-clad hand over the city, “their resolve is crushed, they have no hope left. Their great protectors are all but destroyed; their sacred Temple will be torn down within the day. It’s over Draeval, by tomorrow, this city, indeed this land will be ours.” Draeval turned to face his brother, he saw the hint of malevolence in his eyes, and knew this was only the beginning. “So what are your intentions?” Raevan looked at his brother, and smiled again. “When the executions are complete, we continue with our destiny. We strike the neighbouring lands, crushing them one by one, until the banner of Raevan Halfclaw flies above every city in the whole of Sotramar.” His metal-clad hand began to shake, Draeval glanced at it warily, somewhat unnerved by this. It seemed to be involuntary, as Raevan didn’t notice. “How does the rearming proceed?” Draeval tore his eyes away from the unnatural hand and looked back out to the city. “We should be back to full strength within the week. Commander Taevak reports the second fleet will arrive tomorrow, and the majority of our wounded will be fighting fit soon after.” “The majority?” Raevan looked displeased with this remark. “Well, my lord, there are a couple of dozen with serious injuries, loss of limbs, that sort of thing, we were going to-” “Kill them.” Raevan interrupted. Draeval looked at his brother, who had not flinched when he gave the order. “But they could still be of some use brother, training new recruits.” “I will not allow my commands to be questioned brother, not even by you. They are a drain on our efforts, kill them immediately.” He looked at Draeval, still somewhat dazed, “But if you insist, you may make it as painless as possible, have the clerics put some Haeyan root in their water, I believe that is as swift a way to go as any.” “Yes my lord, I’ll carry out your orders.” He started to leave, “Is there anything else you wish my lord?” “I think I shall conduct the trial of the prisoners today brother, I could use some amusement, have it prepared for noon. That will be all now.” He returned to the throne ascending the stairs with graceful ease. As he sat down again, Draeval made another low bow. “As you wish brother, I will make the preparations.” He rose, turned and swiftly walked out, leaving Raevan alone with his plans of conquest and death. Absorbed in his own machinations and schemes, the new ruler of Traimont didn’t notice the lithe figure slipping out from behind one of the maps he hated so much, and sliding out through one of the servant doors.

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