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heres a book in progress i have going. please reply to this and tell me what you think of it!
by the way, this is REEEEEEALLY long compared to most other posts, so be prepared to be in you chair for a long time. i'm posting chapters one through three.
by the way, i named my avatar after the main charactr, not the other way around.

Here's goes nothing...

Sharubyam

Chapter 1 : The Catastrophist





At a time before time, when all was nothing, and nothing was all there was, there existed only two properties; Light and Darkness. These two things were but a mist in the nothingness that was, floating here and there. But never did the two sides touch. And though they repelled each other, somehow the mists were always compelled to take the place of the areas which the other mist had already covered. And yet, the two could not conquer each other.
Lifeless, but somehow filled with conscience, the two mists swirled and moved across the nothing, the black space which covered everything. The mist of light illuminated the blackness and lifted the darkness as it went, while the other would devour any light it could find, and only add to the nothing that was. And so they rivaled each other; Blinding Golden and Piercing Silver, each with one sole purpose: to obliterate the other.
No one knows how long the mists clashed, for there was no time, nor sense of memory. But when each mist had been whittled to almost nothing, they both withdrew from each other and spread out as far as they could, as if to intimidate the other. And after spreading themselves over as much nothing as they could, as quick as a flash both mists packed themselves in so swiftly that the impact clustered the mist together, and created matter. And this impact, releasing the conscience that the mist withheld, was absorbed by the matter, and created life.
The two life forms, as the mist had, also rivaled each other, in appearance. And these two were the first come; The Great Dragons of the Nothing. Each one hated the other with an unquenchable fury, and levitating through the nothing they shot at each other with the power of a canon and the speed of a lightning bolt. With nothing to restrain them, the two clashed and bounced off the other. And then with their razor sharp claws each tore at the other, and they knew pain, yet ignored it. Never did one or the other tire, and so the climactic battle went on without end.
Then suddenly, releasing the fire of their fury, the two opened there mouths, and from their jaws emitted the very entity of pure rage: flame. The two blasts of fire met, and colliding with each other so swiftly as before with the mists, and once again formed matter. The dragon flame solidified, turned to stone. Again and again the two flames met, one as white as snow, and the other as black as the night. And so the dragons kept releasing their rage, and so more stone was made, and the heat of the rage welded the stone masses together, and created a stone structure so massive and imposing, that it earned its own gravitational pull.
The Dragons, being pulled in by this unknown attraction, fell to what had become earth, in a spiral of flame. And they landed, crashing through the surface, and they delved tunnels with their claws, yearning to find the other, so that they may continue their fray. And so they delved, and their tunnels met, and they chased each other until they burst through the surface of the earth once again and fought above its surface once more.
They fought with each other so climactically, that with the crashing and the burnings they formed the land. And upon this land finding whatever chance that it could, the Light Dragon would breathe upon the earth, and with the breath of life plants sprouted, and blossomed, and grew ever tall. But yet as the Light Dragon made, the Dark Dragon would devour and foul the things the Light Dragon had made, using it's own breath; the breath of death.
And they went on like this for an immeasurable amount of time, until the Light Dragon realized that his progress was going nowhere. And so, discontinuing his creation of the plant life, the Light Dragon released his flame, and it swirled and swiveled and grew into a large ball of fire, a vast multitude of times the size of the earth. And mimicking the Light Dragon, as it had always done, the Dark Dragon did the same. And so, the Sun and the Moon were created.
The two Dragons hurled the Sun and the Moon into the sky, and made them crash into each other. But the Moon could not withstand the strength of the Sun, and so it was flung back and thrown over to face the opposite side of the earth. The Light Dragon, then with all its might, flew up to the Sun, and rammed into it, so that it crashed upon the Dark Dragon, absorbing it, and creating a prison for it. The Light Dragon took the portion of the Sun that withheld the Dark Dragon and hurled it into the tunnels of the inside of the earth which they had delved, and sealed the entrances off by covering them with stone and dirt.
The Light Dragon considered its task almost complete, and finding the strength of its voice, cried out saying, "I am Sharubyam, Slayer of Darkness and Dragon of the Light. I formed the Lands of this earth and delved to its very core. My breath is life, and all life shall have my breath." And though the Dark Dragon was deep underground, he heard the voice of Sharubyam, and answered, saying, "I am Zalloreamon, and I shall have my revenge upon the light!"
Then breathing once more, Sharubyam crystallized the very air, and then taking these crystals, smote them with his flame and they melted and became water. And doing this continually Sharubyam created the oceans and the lakes and the seas, and their tributaries ran never dry.
Sharubyam, as he had once done, then breathed again upon the grounds of the earth, and plants sprouted again. These plants soon covered all the lands thrived, but Sharubyam was not yet satisfied.
Sharubyam had now taken the clays from the mouths and the oceans and the rivers, and brought them to the land, where he molded a sculpture of each living creature to come. And within them he set his Breath of Life, and slowly they animated and began to thrive and multiply.Sharubyam gifted each one with their own unique name, and let them do as they wished.
But Sharubyam was not yet finished with his work, for his greatest achievement was yet to be done. Taking one more pile of clay, he molded the shape of the Human, and once again breathed upon them, and they became life. Sharubyam intended these creatures to be special; far more inelegant than any other creature, and more capable. And so Sharubyam taught them speech, and told them many things.
He said to them, "My Children, all things must pass and old flames must die. And until then I shall be in a deep slumber, in my abode. But yet someday the flame of Zalloreamon's boundaries shall whittle to nothing, and I shall awaken. And when that day comes, great evil shall arise. Now my children listen carefully: Zalloreamon and my powers are equal. One cannot slay the only, but only hinder them. So be wary of your danger! For Zalloreamon still lives, and may still do a great harm to your race. For he knows you are special, and for that he hates you. Be wary of the mountains, my children, and do not abide near them."
Sharubyam then created a gust of wind, and it carried him off to the tallest peak of the highest mountain, where he built a great palace of white marble for himself. And there he fell unto a deep slumber, never to awake until Zalloreamon's return. There, Sharubyam dreamt of the events human's had put into place below and far around his mountain.
Now many lives of men had passed after the departure of Sharubyam, and the people had soon colonized and advanced, and built tools and homes. They had no thought for store of weapons, for they knew not the anger of war, or even the cause. So for a time they lived peacefully, establishing kings and queens to rule over them realizing that they could not live without rule.
Now the lines of kings and queens were fairly routine, each on with an heir to succeed them. But one day, twins were born to Darelloss and Liluthun, the rulers of the land, and they named these two sons Eldueth and Felduin. Yet though they were alike in appearance, their personalities greatly differed. Eldueth, being the eldest of the two twins, was meant to be the successor of their father's throne. Eldueth was known for being fair, just, and merciful. Though he was the eldest and there fore yet to be king, he thought not of it often, for his was not a life that yearned for glory. Felduin, the younger, always seemed to be strong. He had the power to use his voice and cunning mind to convince the most stubborn of thought to his will. But this trait was often mistreated, for he grew up a greedy man, hoarding what he had, and always yearning for more. And because of this, he was easily fell victim to jealousy of his elder brother's title of heir.
So Felduin, being too quick of action and blinded by his greed and jealousy secretly used his voice to bend the will of others into rebellion against the new king Eldueth. Felduin then took up his hunting bow, burst into Eldueth's throne room, and slew the guards. But Eldueth escaped him, for Felduin could not set another arrow so rapidly to the string. And Eldueth called upon the rest of his guard, and there was battle in the city. But Felduin and his rebellion were overcame, and captured, and set into the wild for what they had done.
Though Felduin's Anger and regret was great due to the failure of his plan, he knew that his older brother was too powerful for him, and that the spirit of his own desire had betrayed him to exile. So Felduin claimed himself leader of his rebellion, and they strove far and wide looking for new lands. And then one day, Felduin and his followers had reached the mountain of Kelltarioth, and there they dwelled at the foot of the mountain. And yet no sooner than an hour before they came, the earth shook and the forest surrounding trembled, and suddenly the top of Kelltarioth burst open, and from the hole in the mountain poured liquid flame, which the people called lava.
Indeed this was the work of Zalloreamon, for in his confinement he would always attempt to break free of his fiery prison. And then the pressure thereof exerted from Zalloreamon's attempts to escape was forced into the mountains, bursting many of them all over the earth, and creating the volcanoes.
At first, Felduin's tribe grew afraid of the fiery mountain. But one day Felduin and his escort drew near to the top, and looked below, into the cavernous waste. But then, suddenly, a bolt of great lightening came crashing down from the heavens, falling into the volcano. The sky then immediately darkened. But then, as if to answer the thunder, a pyre of flame burst from the volcano's opening. But just as the pyre stopped shooting up, it came down upon Felduin and his escort in a fiery rage, and each one of them was burnt to death, save Felduin himself. A crowd of villagers had formed below in the town, and witnessed the monstrosity of Zalloreamon's rage.
Surrounded by a sea of flame, and cut off from all means of escape, Felduin gave a cry and fell to his face, gasping and choking in the fumes, where he cried, "My brother, my brother! Curse you for sending me astray! And curse your Dragon! In the end Sharubyam shall be your demise!"
Suddenly the flame ended its rage, and the lava subsided, and a trembling Felduin rose to his feet. Drenched in sweat, and slowly looked up to see the tip of the volcano. And he cowered at the sight of it, for he feared it.
But then he heard a voice, deep and alluring amidst the smoke and flames about him. It said, "Come to me my son, and be not afraid for I am accepting."
So Felduin, looking behind himself and seeing nothing but flame and darkness, accepted that there was nothing to do but obey. So he began to walk, but found he had not the strength, so he crawled, and then dragged himself to the tip of the pit, until he could see the flame inside below him. The smoke emitting from the pit burned his eyes, and blackened his face. Yet he ignored the pain, and looked downwards. The voice continued.
"My son," The voice said to him slowly. "My- prophet. Yes, you have always been quite clever. You shall do nicely."
"Who are you?" Felduin slowly stammered, nearly choking on his own breath. "What are you?" Felduin was trembling now, and his heart was racing now faster than it had ever before. But there was no answer. "Reveal yourself, Demon!" he shouted into the pit.
"Who am I?!" Zalloreamon's voice shouted back. "Who am I? I am the first, and I shall be the last! I am the terrible, and the destructive, and the great! I shaped this very earth, and tore the Golden Flesh!" The voice of Zalloreamon rose much louder. "I am Zalloreamon, The Silver Dragon! And I demand power!" the voice bellowed, echoing off the mountainside. The earth shook, the pit turned red with a fiery light, and rocks tumbled down from the heights.
"The Golden Flesh?" Felduin whispered to himself. "You tore the Golden Flesh?" he now spoke openly to the pit. The red light simmered down, and became pitch black again.
"Yes, my son." The voice of Zalloreamon answered. "I have ripped the flesh of Sharubyam."
"Then- you are mighty to have torn the flesh of my brother's god!" Felduin replied, finding the strength to stand once again, though he tended to limp a bit. "Your strength and wisdom demand respect."
"So they do, my son." The Silver Dragon bragged from his fiery prison. "So it does. You have a good ear for understanding." There seemed to be a low grumbling noise from the pit which lasted a long time. "Prophet!" the voice finally said.
"Yes, my lord?" Felduin asked him, bowing on one knee and listening intently.
"Do you hate the Golden Thief, Sharubyam, as I do?" Zalloreamon asked.
"He has taken from me my kingship and sent me into exile, unjustly. Not only do I hate the Golden Thief, I despise him, and mistrust him and loathe him ever deeply."
"Then would you submit yourself to me, and create an alliance, so that we may both reclaim what is ours, and rule our kingdoms without the corruption of the Golden Usurper?"
"Yes!" Felduin shouted in reply, with a deep lust for the death of his brother. "Yes, my lord! To the death, my lord! Our conquest shall not be stayed lest the light worshippers are ridden from this earth!"
"Then confirm your submission." Zalloreamon stated. "Suffer for your lord!"
By now Felduin had turned to the evil ways of the Silver Dragon, the first human to fall completely into darkness. And so, having lost his mind, took from his belt a small dagger, and cut into his left arm deeply, into the shape of a dragon's head. And so, he extended his arm, and the dark red blood dripped from his limb, falling into the pit. "Submission!" he yelled.
"Good." The voice answered. "You commit to your master, so I shall commit to my servant. This wound is the emblem of your obedience."
Felduin felt a burning sensation rage in the wound on his arm, for when he looked upon it, the wound was ablaze. But soon the flame died, and the cut blackened, where it would stay forever permanently. "The final stage of your transformation is complete. And now: to make our war. Come to your master!"
So Felduin, Crazed and bent on revenge, cast himself into the pit. But this was not the last seen of Felduin that was.
For the prison of Zalloreamon had absorbed Felduin, and he came to the lair of his master, and Zalloreamon taught him the craft of metal, and Felduin was taught how to make armor and weaponry far beyond the current technology, whereas the only weaponry there was were hunting bows with wooden arrows and daggers carved from the rocks. But Felduin, with the discovery of the forge, crafted swords and shields and armored plates, revolutionizing and evolving the art of war. And when Zalloreamon found that he had corrupted Felduin to the peak of the destruction of his will, and finding that the store of weapons he had made in his forge was great, Zalloreamon instructed him in the making of armor crafted special for the dragon. The task was great, but Felduin created it out of the hate for Sharubyam that lay in his heart. From the steel of the hell-prison which Zalloreamon resided in he crafted a mighty dragon helm-crown, studded with the obsidian crystals found only in the depths of the world. And he crafted a large plate for his underbelly, and great silver braces he crafted for the dragon limbs, and on his wings were placed plates of mighty steel, designed to bend with the movement of his wings. And Zalloreamon was pleased with his servants work, and decided that it was time. And one night he carried Felduin away on his breath back to the tip of the volcano where it all began, and along with him was brought the great store of weaponry and armor he had crafted over the many years he had been with his master.
Climbing down the mountain, he was recognized by the elders of the village, and they rejoiced at his return, for they, expanding greatly over the span of time, made war with Eldueth, and they had no strong leaders. And leading his people Felduin taught them the ways of Zalloreamon, and they soon fell victim to his dark influence. And when he brought them to the mountain tops they were amazed, for great store of weapons, of like they had never seen before, lay in endless number. And Felduin told them of the tale of his great forging in the prison. Again the people were amazed, and he became a legend among them, and with the new weapons he had made overwhelmed the people of Eldueth, fore there wooden hunting bows were no match for the plated armor and advanced weaponry of Felduin's Tribe. Yet overtime, Eldueth's tribe learned of Felduin's smithies, and overtaking them soon learned how to craft their own swords and armor.
The war raged on, and both sides expanded and conquered, and thousands of years later, was still as hot as ever. For now it is time you were told of a time thousands of years later, when the chosen hero would arise and end the destruction of Zalloreamon, The Catastrophist.




Chapter 2 : The Plague of War





It was a quiet night in the village. And in every household lay a family with a clutching fear grasping at their hearts, and with each moment the grasp tightened. They had all heard the rumors.
The sudden boldness of Felduin's tribe- they had heard of the raids, and of how nearby villages had been burnt to the ground. Now here they were, mere moments from destruction, in the lands they thought were once safe; and yet there forces could not contain the fire of their enemy's fury. But why now? Why this sudden onslaught? Why did the men of the Darklands choose now to release their full strength?
Yes, the Darklands, for that was what Felduin's tribe had turned their country into, with Zalloreamon's influence. And the men who lived there were now grim of face, and clad only in silver and black. And all men of arms were required to bare the Dragon Scar of Felduin on their left arm.
But no one knew why they had become so bold. But that did not matter, because now they were here. They had come with a mind of destruction and a fist of cold steel, and seeking their chance now merciless.
* * *
A young man lay in his bed, covers nearly over his head. He could find no rest. The danger was far too near. Somehow he could feel it. For the past few weeks he had felt this since of oncoming danger. And here it was again, stronger than ever. The air felt silent- silent, as if anxious to behold such calamity. But the silence did not help his sleep, nor warm the chill in his bones. No, nothing could steady him.
The door opened, and a man came inside, with a candle. He lit the candle in the room, and the darkness was somewhat lifted.
"Awake, Amarythe." he told the young man lying in his bed. "You should not have slept; it should have only tired you."
Amarythe slowly lifted the covers off, and sat somewhat slouched on his bed, head in his hands. "It is of no concern, father." Amarythe told him. "I found no rest, nor did I expect to find any."
"That is good, at least." Amarythe's father said. "But come, there are other things we must attend to. Here, take this candle, and wake your sister."
"Yes father." Amarythe said, taking the second candle from his father. They both went out the door. Amarythe's father went outside, but Amarythe went to the door facing him, and opened it, only to find a little girl wrapped in her comforter, sitting upwards on the edge of her bed.
"Emeryte!" The girl shouted, relieved. She unwrapped herself from the blankets, ran to him and hugged him tightly.
"Amarythe." He corrected her, kneeling down to her and tousling her hair. "Emeryte is our father."
"Amarythe…" The girl said, as Amarythe picked her up. "If he is our papa, why don't you look like him? Aren't children supposed to look like their parents? Why is your hair yellow and daddy's hair brown?"
"You think too much for a person of your size." Amarythe said, laughing a little. "But questions can be asked later. We have to go outside now."
He pushed open the door and walked hurriedly through the entry way, where he pushed open a second door and found himself outside in the dark, with no light but the lamps on his porch and those of the houses around them.
"Ah, Amarythe." Emeryte greeted him, taking the girl. "I see you've found Opayyel. But where is Faynne?"
"She should be around here somewhere. I'll go around and look for her."
As he went to go find her, Emeryte put his hand on Amarythe's shoulder. "While you are at it, go and fetch my old crate in the shed, would you?"
"Yes father." He said, turning away again. As he left, he could hear Opayyel's high voice again.
"Papa, why is Amarythe's hair yellow and yours brown? Where is momma? Is she with Faynne? Where is Faynne, papa?"
"Right, Faynne." Amarythe thought, Opayyel's questions reminding him of his duty. "Faynne!" he shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. "Faynne? Where are you girl?"
He heard a bark, and looked towards the direction where it had come from. There was Faynne, lying next to the shed. Her tail started wagging, and she stood up and came to him. She sat, and he patted her on the head. "Good girl," he said to her.
He approached the shed, Faynne close behind, and opened the wide double doors. Inside it was dark, with the only light being the grey moonlight coming through a small window. Amarythe put forth his candle, but that did not help much. Digging around through blankets and maps and papers of all kinds, and boxes and crates, but none were the crate he was searching for. Then finally he found it, covered in a crimson blanket. He grabbed the blanket and took it off the crate to see the words "Souvenirs" in gold on its wooden exterior. He grabbed the handle and tried picking up the crate, but it was awful heavy, so he had to use two hands. He passed Faynne at the door, and she whimpered at him.
"Come on girl, let's go." He said to her, shutting the doors with his back since his arms were occupied.

"Where is mamma, papa?" Opayyel asked again.
"She is inside, packing your things." Emeryte answered her.
"Why is momma packing our things, papa? Where are we going? Are you coming with us?"
"Shush, Opayyel, shush. You shouldn't let your little mind wander so much."
Amarythe and came around the corner just then, struggling with the crate. As usual, Faynne was close behind with her tongue hanging from her open mouth. Emeryte set Opayyel down, and took the crate from Amarythe. "I think you may have taken one too many spoils from your time at arms, father." Amarythe said, breathing heavily.
"I see you have found Faynne, Amarythe." Emeryte said, patting the wolf.
"What's in the box, papa?" Opayyel asked, looking at the cover.
"Memories." He told her. "From a time long past." His voice slowed, and he seemed to be lost in thought. "Yes-" He whispered. "Long past…"
Suddenly the door opened, and a woman stepped onto the porch. She was carrying two packs. Immediately Opayyel went from her spot at the crate and hugged her legs.
"Cierreth." Emeryte said, approaching her. "Have you packed what you need?"
"Yes," she answered. "I have everything."
"And the food?"
"I've taken most, but I left some for you and Amarythe."
"You left some? Why?" Emeryte questioned her.
"But- your being left behind. You are going to need it."
"No, darling." He said softly. "We will not need food. Not where we are going."
Cierreth at first did not understand, but soon she realized what he meant. "Do not say such things! There still may be hope!"
"There is hope." Emeryte said, somewhat louder. Then his voice dropped to a whisper. "There is hope. But you must follow it. Now leave, before it is gone!"
"But where shall we go?" Cierreth said, distress heavy on her voice.
"Those who cannot stay in the village are gathering east of town. Stay with them, and you will find your place." He told her. "Now you must leave."
"Goodbye, Emeryte." She said the twinkle of tears in her eyes. And he reached for her hand, and kissed her face.
"Goodbye, my sweet." Their hands slowly disconnecting, she left the porch, beckoning Opayyel.
"Opayyel!" Amarythe called from the porch as they stepped a few paces. The little girl turned back. "Keep mother safe."
Opayyel slowly nodded her head, and turned away with Cierreth. Emeryte was hold Faynne back, so she could not run to them. She was whimpering, and let out the occasional bark or two. "I know girl, I know." Emeryte whispered to her. "Let them go." Faynne turned her head, and started to lick his face.
Emeryte let go of Faynne and she went off the porch, and acted as if it was her duty to guard the house. Amarythe slowly approached the crate. "Why did you ask me to bring the crate out, father?"
"To prepare you." He said, grabbing the crate and hulling over to a bench on that sat on the porch. He blew on the top, and dusted it off with his hands. He undid the locks, and Amarythe sat down with him. He then opened the lid, and inside lay many swords and helms some small armor. "These are the spoils of my raids, back when I was a captain in the Great War. Here lies my sword, and the swords of those who opposed me. Here is one," He said, lifting a blade. "Of a great Silver Captain I slew. Broke his neck with my bare hands, I did."
He handed the weapon to Amarythe, and he drew it from its black sheathe. It was a long blade, and it showed no signs of age. The handle was long; able to find two hands.
"This is a great weapon." Amarythe said, admiring the blade. "Should not you save the best for yourself?"
"I have." Emeryte replied, taking from the crate a sword with a decorated crimson sheathe. He drew it, and the blade was pure white. "This is Bylluthin, my old sword, and a weapon worth more than our cabin."
"I believe this whole crate is worth more than our village!" he said, grabbing a helm. "Look at this. It is perfectly crafted- but of Felduin's tribe, unmistakably."
"Actually," Emeryte told him, taking the helm. "This is my old war helm. What you missed was the golden dragon painted on the sides." He showed it to him.
"Well, that was very clumsy on my part." Amarythe said, looking at it closely. "The dragon's as easy to spot as the sun in summer!"
They spent the next few minutes arming themselves. Unfortunately, shields and chest plates would not fit in the crate. Emeryte did not wear shields much either way. He thought they were more of a burden on your arms than a defense. Amarythe took a bow and quiver, and a knife, but would not wear a helm. Most of them were too large for him.
"Now, let me teach you a lesson in fighting these beasts." Emeryte said. "The trick to disarming them is to go for there arms. See, they leave them bare, to show there Dragon Scars. They call it an emblem, but I say it's a statement of their insanity. Yes, but after you get their arm, it's an easy kill from there. Another thing: they are trained, so do not jump into things. Also, they enjoy taking pri-"
He was cut off, by the sound of a screaming woman, followed by the shouts of men. Faynne, who was lying down by the foot of the porch, perked her ears up and lifted her head. Then she started to bark.
Men were running past their house and down the path. One of them stopped, and came up to their porch. "Come on, Emeryte." He said. All of our strength is needed at the west of town."
"We are coming!" Emeryte said, leaping from the bench. Amarythe followed close behind, along with Faynne. They joined the small band and followed the path. Soon Amarythe could see what was happening far off in the distance. "Fire!" he gasped.
"Yes," Emeryte answered, running beside him. "The enemy uses fire in almost all frays."
They kept running until they reached the bottom of a steep hill, where not many houses surrounded. The small crowd stopped. Torches were lit, and tied to poles, which they stuck into the ground.
The same man who called them from their porch came up to Emeryte. "The villagers are setting torches for light. Emeryte," He said sternly. "We shall need your command. None in the village are as experienced as you in this situation. We have no greater captain."
"Is that so?" Emeryte questioned him. "Has no other served at arms?"
"Sadly, no." The man said. "But with you here, it'll be as if we all served."
"That's a bit of an overstatement." Emeryte said. "But I shall do as I can."
"You will have to hurry, Emeryte, they are advancing quickly."
The man led Emeryte away, leaving Amarythe to watch over Faynne. He had heard of war dogs before, but he could not imagine her in battle. He had not only once questioned why Emeryte had not led her away with his mother and sister.
"Hey, Amarythe!" a young man said, approaching him, with three others behind him. "So you've come too, eh?"
"What else choice do we have?" Amarythe said.
"And you've brought the hound, too?" he replied. "Well, human or no, we'll need all the help we can get."
"With this small a brigand it makes me wonder if there is enough help." He was looking at Faynne as he said this. Then she whimpered and lay down on the grass. "So Gylau, you've gathered Rallon and Tillum?"
"Yes, and my brother has come with me." Gylau replied.
"Good evening Fithlin." Amarythe greeted him.
Fithlin nodded, not saying a word. He never had talked much, liked to keep to himself mostly.
"Aye, nothing about this evening could be good." Rallon said. "Be it the cold of night or our oncoming doom, I do not know. But I can feel a chill crawling up my back."
"As do we all, Rallon." Tillum told him. "There's an unstill silence in the air. It's the silence of fear."
They all sat down by Faynne and watched Amarythe's father form battle plans. But there wasn't much he could do. The space was too open, no place for cover or refuge. Far in the distance, if you looked closely enough, you would have been able to see small figures carrying lights in the distance.
"Where is Hathilad?" Amarythe Asked as they sat.
"He's gone with the refugees." Rallon answered. "His mother was ill. She cannot survive without his help."
"Well, we may not survive without his help, but who knows."
Emeryte was done with his plans. Now he forming ranks among the villagers, gathering them into the battle lines. Swords in front, archers behind. Most of the men did not even carry swords; just wood axes and a pitchfork or two. Several archers were also hidden in bushes and behind houses. This wasn't going to be much of a siege.
Emeryte then approached Amarythe and his companions, beckoning them. "Come now, lads." He told them as they came to their feet. "The men are ready, and the enemy has almost arrived. See?" he said, looking back and pointing. "They burn down the houses as they come."
Emeryte showed them to where they were two go. Only Gylau and Fithlin joined him in the archers ranks; the other two were with the swordsman. Amarythe took his bow from his back and grasped an arrow to the quiver. He fitted the end onto the string, and prepared himself. Emeryte was in the front of the lines, shouting orders. Amarythe could see him, and was watching. The enemy was very close.
"Archers, at the ready!" Emeryte shouted. The men around Amarythe began fitting their arrow onto their strings. The enemy was closer, much closer. They were advancing quickly, and showed no signs of slowing. "Fire!" The shout went up, and the arrows rained down on the Silver Men. "Charge!" Emeryte ordered as the bowmen in hiding sprung from their shelter and shot from the distance. The two lines of battle met, and Amarythe could see his father sweep his sword underneath the legs of three Shadow Men, knocking them to the ground. The rest on the front though, were not doing very well.
The archers were too far away to do much more damage, for the battle was progressing further forward. So the archers behind drew their swords and caught up with the others. The silver troops began encircling the villagers, to entrap them and close in. the easiest way to kill of a small group.
"Spread out! Cover our sides, and do not let them encircle us." Emeryte shouted, and the group began to back up and reach farther out. This put Amarythe in the front lines, defending those behind. But the battle was not turning much better; they continued too surround until there was a full circle. The fight was on all fronts now. Amarythe then felt a push as the enemy lines moved in closer. The enemy in front of him had pushed him down, and raised his sword, intending to give the finishing blow to him.
But then, suddenly and just on time, came Faynne growling and barking, and she leapt from behind Amarythe and tackled the man, biting at his throat. The enemy gave a shout and struggled, then stopped moving. Faynne again started growling. More enemies were closing in. soon the battle became more intense, and the two sides mixed, and there were enemies and allies all around.
Amarythe had stabbed a man in the heart, and cut another's sword from one's hand when he remembered his father's advice: to slash at their arms. And he did so, and they withdrew. But then, one soldier came behind him and put him in an arm lock, making him the primary target of many other soldiers. There was no one there to help him. He had lost Gylau and Fithlin when they went into the charge, and Faynne was with Emeryte. "Pin him, now!" the soldier grasping him said, but Amarythe quickly freed a hand, drew his knife and stabbed the man in the ear. The blade immediately struck his brain and he died on the spot. But other soldiers surrounded him, for the allies he had lay slain all about him. The silver troops closed in…
And then suddenly, with no hope of escape, he shouted "Fyraus tu sol, intesol topa ay Mourd!" And grabbed the front soldier's neck, kicking the one behind him and knocking him to the ground. Then he took his sword and raised it. It came crashing down upon his foes with a fiery fury, and they quailed at his sight. The enemies who had encircled him had fled before him.
"What did I say?" Amarythe thought to himself, watching the few soldiers flee. But there were more important things to do. He had to find his father. He could see him, but there were too many men in his way to reach him. He fought his way through, swinging his sword. But a soldier caught him by surprise, and aimed a blow at his torso. But Amarythe was quick and dodged to the left. But his attempt was not all too successful, and the soldier's blade cut deeply into his arm. Amarythe shouted clutching his arm, and the soldier raised his sword. But Amarythe took his chance while the soldier's stomach was undefended and swung his blade, nearly chopping his enemy in half. Amarythe went back to finding his father, but could find no sign of him. But his search was cut short, for a building that the enemy had set on fire near him fell apart, and a plank of wood came down and struck him in the face, knocking him to the ground unconscious. No soldiers minded him now. For all they cared, he was a casualty.