Chapter 1 the king is dead

“It all began with a cruel little jest—with a Feather, an old beggar, and a proud king. Which caused the race of Men to fall into chaos.”

King Konqeran, King of Gundahar, spoke those words to King Alfred of Hardonia.

Both kings stood upon a cliff overlooking the beachhead below. Hundreds of wrecked ships littered the pounding waves, while hundreds of men, still clad in their armor, lay dead upon the sand. Seagulls cried overhead, circling above the beach of death.

“If King Zoran had heeded his generals’ advice, we would not be in this predicament.”

King Konqeran pointed his long sword toward the beach below. The blade gleamed brilliantly beneath the sunlight.

“Now we are chased from our homelands like vagabonds and wanderers because of that one mistake that fool made.”

King Alfred looked up at King Konqeran, who towered over him and his Hardonian men.

His silver armor was both majestic and beautiful. His helmet bore two eagle-like wings protruding from either side, while his black cape fluttered in the wind. His voice was soft but cold. He was always calm, yet calculated—a king blessed in the arts of warfare and sword combat. His ruthlessness was known throughout the realm.

Swoosh!

A great brown eagle landed upon his sharp blade. The eagle was the proud sigil of theGundahar Kingdom.

The winged beast walked onto Konqeran’s arm. He stroked its head, and the eagle screeched a loud, piercing call.

“Once we are able to get into Sindoor, this war will change in our favor, Alfred.”

King Konqeran slowly turned his gaze toward Alfred.

“Do you trust me?”

“With all my heart and honor, I trust you, my king,” Alfred replied, keeping his eyes lowered.

“Good... Prepare for another assault on Sindoor. This time, only your men and ships will attack.”

King Konqeran turned and walked away, followed by his entourage of knights.

Alfred was fighting another war within his own mind.

How many more Hardonian men must I sacrifice?

Then the king of Gundahar suddenly came to an abrupt stop.

King Alfred quickly lowered his gaze again.

“Your son is becoming a great swordsman. I have taken him under my own wing. You would be proud of him.”

Konqeran made his way down the cliff leaving Alfred standing there alone.

He remembered the day he had given his only son up as a royal ward. It had been years since he had laid eyes upon his son.

King Alfred fell to one knee. He made a fist with both steel gloves and pressed them against his forehead. He groaned, not from the pain of flesh, but from the pain within.

He remembered that fateful day when he bent the knee to King Konqeran, sealing the fate of his entire kingdom in the megalomaniac’s hands.

Now he bent the knee again for his fallen comrades.

He fell back against the rocky cliff, his eyes narrowing as he watched the seagulls flying above. His nostrils burned with the smell of decaying corpses coming from below.

He began hitting the back of his head against the jagged wall.

Thud!

Twice he struck his head.

A bright crimson stain covered his greying hair.

When will this end? When will my people be set free? When will I be reunited with my son?

The words burned deep inside his mind.

Down Below on the Beach

“Salvage the armor and weapons!” shouted the Hardonian general, Lord Blackwood.

He looked down at the lifeless young face before him. The soldier was little more than a boy, too young to have even known the warmth of a woman’s embrace.

His eyes filled with tears as he looked around, making sure no one was nearby.

Lord Blackwood began removing the boy’s helmet and armor.

His hands trembled.

Then he burst into tears, pounding his fist into the sand.

He lifted the young soldier into his arms and held him tightly.

The dead boy reminded him of his own son, who had been killed in the seige of Thanis a few years earlier.

King Alfred watched him silently from afar after making his way down the cliff.

Then the faint shouting of men echoed from the beach.

King Alfred and Lord Blackwood rushed over the dune.

To their surprise, a ship had survived.

It was a Hardonian vessel, sailing beneath the banner of the Hardonian Kingdom—a white tiger emblazoned against a red background.

The men shouted with joy at the sight.

The crew had been lost at sea, adrift from the battle for days. The men aboard were covered in sunburns, their lips cracked and dry from thirst.

Then silence befell the beach.

A colossal shadow could be seen swimming beneath the ship, following it like a predator stalking its prey.

King Alfred stared in horror.

“No... No, no, noooo!” he shouted.

Crash!

Seven enormous tentacles erupted from the deep blue.

Screams erupted from the men aboard the ship as the tentacles wrapped around the vessel as though it were nothing more than a child’s toy.

Wood splintered.

The ship groaned and twisted under the immense pressure before the tentacles crushed it completely.

Then, with a violent pull, the creature dragged the shattered vessel and its screaming crew into the dark abyss.

King Alfred could do nothing to save his men.

His face was filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow as he stared helplessly at the empty sea.

Sindoor was ruled by the Atlens, an ancient race capable of communicating with and commanding the creatures of the sea. They themselves could breathe indefinitely underwater.

The Atlens were visibly different from the race of Men. They possessed gills, webbed hands and feet, and long, pointed ears. Their tanned skin was covered in intricate tribal tattoos, while their black hair framed piercing blue eyes.

Sindoor was rich in resources. Gold, silver, copper, timber, coal, and fertile lands filled the island, making it one of the wealthiest territories in the known world.

Night befell the beach.

A dreaded silence filled the cold, dark air. Only the waves crashing against the shore broke the stillness.

The camps were filled with defeatism and low morale.

King Alfred called a small council in his royal tent. Lord Blackwood, Lord Grenidge, and Lady Kaleb sat at the table. Maps were spread across it, along with candles and empty cups. A single loaf of bread rested in a bowl at the center.

“For eight years, we have followed King Konqeran in his holy crusade. For what? Because the blood of the First Men flows through his veins?” said Lord Blackwood.

“Thousands dead in Thanis. Thousands more in Tharun. For the sake of sanity itself, let us leave this godforsaken crusade and seek refuge elsewhere... anywhere.”

Lady Kaleb nodded in agreement.

“The Dwens have not come to help the race of Men. They remain hidden within their magical forests. The Atlens wish to see us annihilated. Time and time again, they have refused to give us aid, yet they sit upon a land filled with endless resources.”

“Aye. We are alone in this fight against the dark foe and his evil armies,” said Lord Grenidge, the oldest of the generals and the most battle-hardened.

“If the rumors about the farms are true—and I pray they are nothing but old tales...” He lit his pipe and took a puff before continuing.

“Then we have no choice but to invade Sindoor. They have pushed us to this breaking point.”

He puffed again.

“We follow King Konqeran, take Sindoor, and use its plentiful resources to stage one final, decisive fight against the dark ones. Free our people from being butchered like cattle and reclaim the continent.”

King Alfred stood and looked down at the maps.

He remained silent for a moment before looking at his generals.

“King Konqeran wants Hardonia to stage another assault on Sindoor. Just us. No Gundaharans will be involved.”

“Madness!” Lord Blackwood shouted as he stood, pounding his fist against the table. “This is suicide! The Atlens will unleash their kraken and whales upon us. We’ll be dead before our eyes even see the island!”

“I, for one, will not lead our people into any more needless deaths,” said Lady Kaleb.

“The Kingdom of Gundahar outnumbers us twenty to one. If we refuse, we will be slaughtered, and our remaining people enslaved!” Lord Grenidge shouted back.

Lord Blackwood sat back down and scoffed.

“We’re just a big sack of meat, held together by some bones and skin. One swipe, and it all falls to the ground like a sack of grain.”

“Nine years ago, I bent the knee to King Konqeran—something no Hardonian king has ever done before. I gave him my son, your prince. We have always been a powerful and proud kingdom.”

Alfred reached for the loaf of bread and broke it into three pieces.

He gave one to Blackwood, another to Grenidge, and the final piece to Lady Kaleb.

“But I promise you one thing. This shall come to pass. The banner of Hardonia will rise again. Our kingdom shall rise from these dark days.”

He then walked back to the head of the table.

“Give me one hundred of our best men, and I will take Sindoor.”

He picked up a dagger and drove it into the map, its blade piercing the spot that marked the island.

The generals all understood. Their king was a brilliant and cunning tactician, for it was he who had formulated the plans that had seen Thanis and Thurin fall into defeat.

Maybe, just maybe, he had a cunning plan to defeat the Atlens as well.

“Are you with me?!” shouted King Alfred as he raised his empty cup into the air.

The three generals followed suit and lifted their empty cups.

In King Konqeran’s Royal Tent

His generals drank and feasted from a table filled with meat, rice, potatoes, and wine. Music played while dancers performed for their entertainment.

The royal tent looked more like a palace than a war tent.

Dawn was upon them.

The rising sun reflected off the blue waters. Hundreds of graves, buried into the sand and marked with an X, could be seen throughout the dunes.

King Alfred and his chosen hundred men, including Lord Blackwood, lined up in formation in front of their king near the beachhead.

They wore dark grey armor with silver chain mail. Their helmets were carved in the likeness of a tiger’s face, with dashing red capes flowing behind them.

Alfred’s helmet had a red plume running down the center, signaling his authority.

The Hardonians’ preferred weapon was the battle axe, though some used short swords for close-quarters combat.

Before King Alfred could finish speaking to his men, a group emerged from the shadows behind them.

It was King Konqeran and his knights.

Alfred turned and knelt.

His men followed suit.

“Rise,” said Konqeran.

“Why have your men not boarded their warships?”

He looked over Alfred’s shoulder.

“Surely this cannot be all the men you are taking?”

The Gundaharans towered over the Hardonians. They were no shorter than seven feet tall, while the Hardonians were no more than five and a half feet.

The Hardonians were from the tribe of the Third Men, not only shorter in stature but shorter in lifespan as well.

Alfred lowered his gaze.

“My king, I have a plan. All I need is one hundred men and twenty-five small boats.”

“I plan on using the Strait of Gigilmahan to launch a surprise attack.”

King Konqeran’s eyes narrowed.

“The strait?”

The Strait of Gigilmahan was once a land bridge that connected the continent to Sindoor centuries ago. Now, it lay beneath shallow waters.

“No large sea creatures would be able to come near us. My scouts have also told me they haven’t seen any guarding that path.”

“Hmmm. A bold idea, but a stupid one... yet bold,” Konqeran smirked.

“Do you trust me, King?” said Alfred.

Konqeran then took Alfred by the chin and raised his head so their eyes could meet.

“I do not trust you as a man, but I trust your military prowess. You have proven yourself in Thanis and Thurin.”

Konqeran then leaned closer to Alfred and whispered...

“Remember, failure would mean death to your people... and to your son".

He released his grip from Alfred’s chin and walked away.

Alfred then faced his men again.

“We leave at nightfall.”

He then looked at Lord Blackwood and nodded his head.

Blackwood nodded back at his king.

For two days, King Alfred and his men quietly rowed their small boats, one behind the other. Four men were crammed into each boat.

During the daytime, they covered the boats with a light-blue, rigid cloth to try to blend into the ocean so their enemy would not detect them.

It was a gruelling journey, the daytime heat made the covered boats into a oven while the night-time cold made the boats into a shivering box.

Not to mention the few jugs of water and food they had to ration between themselves, many went sleep with hungry bellies.

But when all seemed lost a faint voice gave hope.

“Land,” a soldier whispered.

Blackwood peeped through the blue cloth. A beam of sunlight momentarily blinded the men as they shielded their eyes with their palms.

Blackwood then closed the cloth.

“Sindoor,” he whispered.

Alfred and his hundred men disembarked from their small boats and began swimming. Only their heads were visible above the surface.

They were only about fifty metres from setting foot on Sindoorian soil.

They passed beneath a humongous stone statue of a half-Atlen, half-fish humanoid. It was no less than eighty metres in length, one of thousands that lined the coast of Sindoor.

The Hardonians could see a towering golden pyramid rising above the trees to the centre of the island capped with a diamond top glistening off the sunlight.

They marvelled at the sight.

Then....

Splash!

“There’s something in the water,” a soldier whispered.

“What? Keep swimming,” King Alfred whispered back.

“Arghhhhhh!”

A sickening scream ended the silence.

A soldier was dragged underwater.

The water turned red.

King Alfred and the others stopped, their faces going pale.

Then a fin appeared on the horizon.

Then another.