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In the mind of evil.....Jul 24 '02 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line A humble writers attempt to write a novel.
All of us on Epinions.com are aspiring writers - whether we aspire to be published in magazines or whether we aspire to be published in hard back doesn't really matter. I write to relax, and although I would love to be published, all I really want to do is finish my novel. It may sit in my cupboard for years, but i will know that I have achieved something to be proud of no matter how bad my writing is! I therefore open myself up to you, my friends, and ask for comments and critisism...be harsh, I don't really care, be nice, all I ask is for honesty! And if anyone wants to be my editor (or publisher!!!) feel free to contact me with an offer of at least $100,000!!! *grin* Chapter 1 - Ambush The wind was blowing hard in the valley of Argon as the group traveled through. The sun, once a bright beacon in the sky, lost its battle as gloomy rain clouds covered the sky. Rain hammered down as if God had forsaken this desolate valley. Thunder roared, echoing ominously around the valley with lighting flashes that cast eerie shadows amongst the trees. Rivulets, formed from the heavy rain, turned the normally solid ground into a quagmire, making it hard work to move. The Valley is not easy to traverse on a normal day, with its thick undergrowth seemingly grabbing at the ankles and the intimidating trees bowing down as if to grab the unsuspecting traveler, tearing them limb from limb. With the turbulent storm threatening to overcome the group, the valley has become extremely daunting and hazardous. Battle weary guards, tired after the long trek and the ambushes, are alert for danger. Every moment that passed did little to relieve their tension. The guards are tired of this cat and mouse game and will be glad to be home, safe again. Although the group is hardened and elite, the trip has taken its toll. Various members of the hardy band seem to cower as the storm grows in strength; all will be glad to be in front of a nice warm fire with their loved ones, drinking an ale and forgetting the worries of battle and fatigue. The thoughts of home seem to reduce the perception of the normally alert guards as shadowy figures detach themselves from the trees. Prince Calin, oblivious to the constant danger sleeps silently in his cot. The prince, destined to be king of the land one day, dreams silently, a slight smile gracing his innocent face. A darkness creeps into his dreams and he begins to move restlessly, unaware of the impending doom. His nurse strokes his hair to chase away the nightmares and he relaxes into slumber again. Calin returns to his original dream, a dream of wild deer, strange rabbits, wonderful smells and funny, smiling children. Although he doesn't realize it, Prince Calin is dreaming of the trip. The trip has been very important for both Amaria and Kyria. The proposed merging of the nations, on the wedding of Calin and Kyle in fifteen years time, will cement the alliance. The two great nations have been at war so long that no one even knows why the conflict originally began, or when. Although there has been nothing more than mere skirmishes over the last twenty years, both nations have been on a state of alert for centuries, always expecting a swift attack. They are desperate for peace and long to end the strife and begin to coexist as a larger, greater nation. King Haram, Calin's father, had to weigh up the danger of the trip with the future. It was a great gamble, but the benefits would be worth it. A greater nation would be able to defend a larger border against the dark, and perhaps more evil enemies of the North and the unknown entities South and East The two neighboring nations have attempted peace before, but the negotiations often failed before any lasting peace could be made. Trying to secure peace between the nations is not easy; in fact some say that the two nations enjoy the wars. The joining of Prince Calin of Amaria and Princess Kyle of Kyria should secure the West Kingdom. In the city of Kryton, far away to the south of the valley, the prince's twin brother, Prince Kelvyn, also sleeps. His sleep is troubled by nightmares and he tosses violently. Prince Kelvyn never sleeps well, so his nurse doesn't even stir. Kelvyn's future is less dangerous than Calin's. There are no plans to marry him to any princesses, and although he is second in line to the throne it seems unlikely he will ever reign especially if the two countries merge. However, he is to play a major role in the future merging of the nations; Kelvyn will be the head of parliament. This role is mostly a diplomatic role but will help forge alliances with other neighboring countries and hopefully help bring a lasting peace to the whole region. There are doubters of course and the enemies of the court do not want peace. War has its own benefits; weapons makers profit from the constant worries of invasion, making bigger, sharper and more dangerous weapons. Traders often hike their prices blaming the additional cost of guarding their supplies for the often unwarranted high prices. Other scarce commodities become very expensive, as the King has banned trade from Kyria, thus enabling smugglers to form a very profitable black market. Several factions have emerged and although democracy is prevalent, a few whispers of civil war have been heard through court, most of these from unscrupulous traders who will lose their profitable business once the countries merge. Other rumors talk of the doom that will befall the world should the two nations join. King Haram is a patient man and listened to all the doubters, even agreeing with a few of them. However, he finally announces that he is the King and that his word is final, there shall be an alliance. It is also written that any people who pursue any actions that are detrimental to this alliance will be tried for treason and hung if found guilty. The King is fair, but realizes that he must be swift with justice to ensure that his nation does not tear itself apart, this would end any chances of peace in the region. Prince Calin stirs as the group negotiates the thick undergrowth, the poor footing hampering their progress and causing the caravans to jump often. A keen intelligence scans the horizon as if searching for something, looking for a talisman of hope perhaps; in that moment Prince Calin is not a baby, he surveys the area as if sensing his enemies nearby. Feeling their pure hatred, he somehow knows that now is not the time for him to die and he smiles. One day he will meet his enemies and prevail, but for now he can remain content and become the baby again. His eyes soon become foggy again and he returns to his sleep. Traveling through the narrow valley is daunting; the high mountains like stalwart giants crest the trail preventing any egress other than by one end or the other. The trail is very hard to see, covered in moss and surrounded by long grass and thicket. With the torrential rain adding to the problems, the going is very tough. The horses are skittish as they traverse through the valley, as their riders, wary of the dangerous terrain, slow their mounts down to a snails crawl. Every crevice can hold an ambush, and every thicket could hold an army. The group's nerves are stretched beyond reason and they are ready to crack. The trail is hardly used and therefore the going is tough. Although the valley is half a mile in length, the trip will probably take two days. Now that the group is in the most dangerous part of the journey, Carl Trueman is at his best. Normally he relies on his scouts to ensure the safety of the group, but he realizes that fatigue has set in and no matter how vigilant his scouts are, an extra pair of eyes always helps. Not a worm moves without his knowing, not a bird flies. To the casual observer, he is just talking to his comrades, but look closely at his eyes, and they dart about checking every nook and cranny in the valley. Carl sees possible ambush sites everywhere, and constantly appraises the best site for defense. The group have survived many ambushes and Carl expects there to be a least one more before they finally get back to the relative safety of Amaria and the town of Albon, he also realizes that the trail provides probably the best site for such an attack. Peter Arbor, however is at his worst. The nails on his fingers are as worn as his nerves. The king's chancellor is a coward at the best of times, and at this point, he is constantly shaking. His voice is quivering as he speaks to Carl. Peter is so uptight that he wouldn't even have seen a demon had it tapped him on his back. Peter had not wanted to go on this trip and had advised the King that the trip was too dangerous. But the King is King after all, and despite all his misgivings, he did his best. The Alliance that he has helped forge is a good one. Joint patrol of the borders will help the armies to know each other and the joint trade agreement will only help both nations. The nations will not merge until the princess and prince are sixteen, and also married, giving the two nations' people fifteen years to come to terms with the idea. Overall, Peter is very happy with the agreements, and realizes that the king was right after all. The first thing that would happen though, and perhaps one of the best things that would happen, is that this godforsaken valley would be cleared, and a constant guard would make travel between the two nations safer. This would be the last time Peter had to travel through this awful place. Peter is a skinny man, with a very pale complexion. Put a bit of meat on his bones and you would have a handsome man, however, with his stooping, and his gaunt features, many people shun him at court and only talk to him because he is the king's right-hand man. Peter's hair is pitch black and his eyes are even blacker. He has large bushy eyebrows that meet, and a face that seems unnaturally long. No one has ever seen Peter in any clothes other than long sweeping black cloaks, supplemented by subtle belts and dark furs. Rumors abound that he is a dark magician, mainly spurred on by his demeanor, but as yet no one has found any evidence. Peter does dabble in magic, but nothing more than minor charms and blessings. Carl, on the other hand, is well known in the court's circles. Carl is a tall man, with a lean but muscular body. His chiseled face is well tanned due to too many days adventuring and traveling. Piercing blue eyes stare back at you, containing animal cunning and yet a glint of humor that can be infectious. He is not handsome, but his presence is enough to make up for that. Many women swoon in his presence; scandalous gossips say that all his brains are held in his loins, but the caring, intelligent man they meet pleasantly surprises most people. The king relies on Carl for the safety of the realm, and during the king's ten-year reign, there have been many skirmishes between the two close neighbors. Carl has proved himself a very good general many times, and his firm leadership from the front is enough to keep the army's morale high. Swinging his mighty sword and singing is often enough to scare of raiding parties, not that his voice is particularly bad, but the combination of the song and the fire in his eyes is often very intimidating. Other times, a swift parley is enough as Carl uses his swift wit and intelligence to defray many dangerous situations, it is even said that he could probably talk the devil out of taking his soul. And then there is Andrew De Havlin; Andrew, just turned sixteen, believes himself to be the greatest swordsman of all time, he is the cockiest youth in the kingdom. His ratty looks and rough demeanor do not enamor him to many, but the king suffers his idiosyncrasies, because despite his cockiness, he is the best swordsman in the land. Andrew is the perfect bodyguard for the prince because no one would suspect that this scrawny youth would be so deadly with a long sword. Andrew is non descript and fades easily into the background. Small, with dark skin, he is often overlooked with most people assuming his is a servant or a page boy. With a pointed noise and eyes that seem to squint all the time, many unkind women call him the rat man. Add to this the rat-tail that he insists on growing, and then many see why he is nicknamed 'The Rat'. Not much is known about Andrew’s history, or how he became a great swordsman. He keeps his past close to himself, except for the many battles he allegedly has won against terrifying odds. Oddly, he seems to hold in his feelings. Only rarely can he be seen laughing, and none have ever seen him cry. God seems to have forgotten to give Andrew a sense of humor. Despite all this, he is an amiable member of the group, perhaps because of his skill or his boyish exuberance. The knowledge of weaponry and warfare tactics Andrew possesses is almost unrivalled, and this gives Andrew and Carl a form of camaraderie. The three comrades in arms travel quietly on horseback in front of the caravan, although Peter will chuckle to himself at being called a comrade in arms; a comrade in running perhaps. Three wagons are pulled by gigantic horses and are constantly surrounded by one hundred men at arms, perhaps the best fighting troupe in the kingdom. The first caravan holds the Prince; the other two contain the supplies for the trip. The guard has a rotating watch, with no less than thirty guards alert at any time. Ten additional guards are assigned to the prince alone, making a total of forty guards on duty. The system seems to work well, for although they have been under constant attack, not one man has died, only minor wounds and general fatigue have hampered the guards. This is not only a testament to Carl's command, but also to the skill of each guard. Being part of the Prince's Guard is the highest honor a soldier can aspire to, and as such attracts the most able and dedicated men. Katy Hallor, the only lady in the troupe has had it easy. Katy, after many years work in local hospitals and surgeries, has gained vast amounts of knowledge regarding healing and the use of herbs. She is invaluable to any traveling band. Tall and beautiful, with long dark brown tresses, and eyelashes that seem to flutter all the time, she is approached by many men. Her coolness under pressure and her almost belittling look soon dissuades any man from pursuing her though. She believes that her profession should keep her distant from personal affairs and so, although she is tempted by many of the offers, she reluctantly turns them all down. However, if Carl should ever offer, well you never know what may happen. Katy has treated many small wounds during the hazardous journey with great success. She is actually pleased there have been no major wounds, because although she has the skill to treat almost anything, she would prefer not to use her skill at all. Katy spurs her horse and catches up with the three men. She arrives as Carl is speaking. He is actually suppressing a laugh at the same time. With obvious mirth Carl speaks 'So there were twenty-three men attacking you, and your right arm was useless. With your amazing prowess and acrobatic skills you managed to kill ten and wound the other thirteen enough to escape. You are a prestigious fighter, my friend.' Carl's endearing smile is almost enough to convince Andrew that his tale has been believed. 'Thank you Carl. Ah. Could you be humoring me I wonder? Well the battle did happen and one day I may let you see the wounds.' Andrew's eyes flash dangerously for a second, he hates to be humored, but then he smiles and begins to laugh. After all, Carl is a prestigious fighter as well. One day, Andrew thinks to himself, I will have your job. Andrew is not an evil boy, but he sometimes allows his jealousies get the better of him. Carl stares open mouthed at Andrew, and with a straight face murmurs ' Then your humorous nerves weren't removed at birth;\line Peter, nerves calmed a little by the banter between warriors, speaks quietly, 'Carl, Andrew, we are in the presence of a lady, please refrain from profanities.' Trying hard to conceal her giggles, Katy replies 'Why thank you kind sir.' Somehow she manages to curtsey in a saddle. Little does Peter realize that Katy can swear with the best of them! He therefore misses the giggle. Continuing, Peter scratches his neck, an itch suddenly troubling his concentration. 'That is my pleasure my lady.' The itch on his neck seems to be worsening, and suddenly with dread he finds a dart. 'Carl, a dart, Carl . . . ' with that he slumps off his horse. Carl's reaction is immediate. He vaults off his horse and runs to the Prince's caravan. Many men around him are falling off their horses while others are milling around. A simple barked command from Carl spurs them into action\line 'Ambush! ' Carl's eyes frantically search for the assailants, wondering how he could have missed the ambush. How could his band of hardy men have been ambushed so easily, this godforsaken valley must have sapped their alertness and energy? In an instant Carl surveys the ambush, looking closer at the figures, he notices that they shimmer as they approach. Realization dawns as Carl spots the signs of magic, how stupid of him to get so complacent. Birds circle above him as the figures continue to appear out of nowhere. 'Watch out, magic is being used' he shouts as he unsheathes his sword. The group is badly outnumbered. Perhaps fifty are already unconscious, defeated by simple darts, and with a quick count, Carl estimates that three hundred men are attacking. 'Retreat' he shouts as the assailants slowly circle the caravans. 'Find shelter' Andrew is already running, however he is heading toward the enemy. 'Andrew, don't be a fool, I need you here.' However Andrew does not hear and men engulf him. Katy spurs her horse on wildly, charging away from the caravans as quickly as possible. Her only thoughts that she must alert the king, she can already tell that this was a deadly ambush. Darts fly past her as she seeks to escape, luckily though, none find their mark as she moves to relative safety. Carl is in the thick of fierce fighting, many of his men are already down and he realizes that they are losing the battle. Cursing himself for underestimating his enemy he continues to swing his sword, his awesome presence enough to deter many would be assailants. A red haze begins to cover his eyes as his anger rises; to get so close to home and then let a little fatigue dull his senses angers him. He is now the sole defender of the princes' caravan; bodies lie strewn all around the caravans, either unconscious or dead. Carl will be damned if anyone gets passed him to the prince. They come on in hordes, but just as quickly are cut down. Carl seems immense as the dead pile around him, his energy endless and his sword arm ever strong. Numerous darts adorn his body but the poison has little effect on him, perhaps his constitution is strong, or perhaps he is just too angry to pass out. An ancient war cry is emitted from his lips and the enemy seems to shrink back from him. Even the heavens respond as sunlight suddenly bursts through the clouds. Carl's anger subsides a little as he realizes he is alone. There is no sign of any of his comrades and all the men at arms are down. There are perhaps one hundred and twenty enemies left but they seem to be withdrawing from him. Suddenly, a figure appears from behind the enemy. A tall dark man, wearing a vivid red cloak approaches slowly. Red eyes glow below a dark hood and the face wears a wicked grin. A strange emblem is emblazoned on his cloak that seems to have a life of its own. Almost like a fire, it dances before you drawing your eyes in. Carl quickly snatches his eyes away from the symbol shaking his head to clear the lethargy he suddenly feels. 'Well met, Carl Trueman. Your prowess is truly great and befits your Ancestors. Carl Anheim is your real name, although I guess this does not impress you. Anheim is the ancient name of the rulers of the whole land before the cataclysm. You are the sole heir. Not that it does you any good now. Know, before you die, that I am Baron Von Howell, and I bear you no malice. Quite simply, you must die for me to rule. I have considered letting you rule with me, but all the possible futures suggest that you would eventually kill me. Ah well, we could have been so good together, ' with that Baron Von Howell raises his arms. Carl snorts loudly. 'Baron Von Howell, I am afraid that your name means nothing to me. As for my ancestors, well what is past is past. The present and the future are the only things that concern me. As for the immediate future, I do foresee a death. However, it is yours.’ Suddenly Carl charges toward the Baron not realizing the impending doom. His speed seems to surprise the Baron and soon Carl is within swords reach. As Carl raises his sword for the fatal blow, the Baron raises his arms as if in submission. Time slows as Carl's sword descends towards the Baron's skull. The baron, showing no fear laughs hysterically, his hands form into a circle and a fire grows inside. Suddenly there is a flash, and intense heat. The very energy from the air seems to coalesce and form a gigantic fireball. An explosion carries Carl several hundred feet. As he lands, with a bone-crunching thud, his armor smoking like a furnace, the intense pain makes him dizzy. The pain suddenly subsides and Carl feels himself leaving his body and floating toward the stars. Slowly, painlessly darkness passes in front of him and he drifts without perception of the real world. Many things pass before his mind's eye, as time almost seems to stop. In fact time seems to twist as he found himself plunging backward through his lifetime. Suddenly, he wakes in a warm bed screaming. Tears stream down his face as the nightmare and horror start to fade. Carl's arms are moving wildly as if he is trying to remove demons that cling to him. Vivid pictures of blood and gore still fill his mind as he continued to scream. Slowly the horror diminishes. ....to be continued  |
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