A Kingdom Bewitched

[JacksonCougar]

A Kingdom Bewitched
By: Mathew Cougar

Note to the reader:
This is an excerpt from what would have been a larger story. It would have been a series of small stories, or more likely a novelette. I have written one chapter of this story in place of the short story format. Sorry if this is going to cause problems; it is just how the story turned out as I wrote it.

Chapter One: Secrets
Diving out of the way of his attacker Mat rolled across the hard barn floor and leapt back to his feet barely bringing his word back up in time to block another attack from his foe. This time Mat saw an opening and struck with his heavy broadsword into his opponent’s chest. In his mind he could see the defeated man slowly sagging to his knees, blood dripping from his gaping mouth--
"Mat!" came a shout from the barn door.
Mat jerked back into reality--he had not heard his father enter the barn. His father was standing in the doorway with the morning sun just peeking over the mountains behind their farm. His dad, or Thom as everyone called him, was middle aged with a touch of gray appearing in his blonde hair. He was dressed in long loose pants with many pockets sewn into the sides to hold an assortment of tools or other necessities. He wore a green long sleeved shirt that buttoned up in the front. He didn't look pleased to see what Mat had been doing.
"Mat, you know I don't like you playing these games", muttered his father, looking disapprovingly at the bundle of straw that Mat had shaped into a practice dummy. Mat didn't own a real sword like some of the guards in the town, Brayerfield, that they often traded with. Mat had met a man who had let him hold his sword, and even taught Mat a few basic fighting tricks. Mat had modeled his practice sword off that mans sword out of the limb of an old oak-tree. Now looking at the straw dummy, battered from his previous activities with it, and the wooden sword plunged into it he felt his face turning red with embarrassment.
"It's not games", said Mat defensibly. "I want to learn how to defend myself if we are attacked by bandits again". Last summer the farm had been raided by a gang of out-laws; they stole some of the cattle, and destroyed some of his father’s property. Mat thought his father looked almost torn for a second as he stared at Mat quietly.
"Perhaps it is time you did learn how to use a sword. Yes, perhaps it’s past time--if I don't teach you how to use that sword properly you may injure yourself and be of no use when I need your help with the barley crop". The face of his Father had taken on a harder, more determined look now.
"Y-you would teach me?", Mat was surprised; his father did not wear a sword like many of the men in the town did, and had never confessed to knowing how to use one. Mats father looked distant for a moment, an almost sad look in his eyes.
"I was not always a farmer, son", said Thom, running a hand through his hair in discomfort. "I once served in the King’s army: in the Great War itself ". Giving himself a small shake he changed the subject: "I'll be right back, we'll start with your lessons in just a few minutes". He turned around and left through the barn door, leaving Mat alone in the barn. His head was buzzing with questions about his father just then: why hadn't he told him he was in the army? Why did he suddenly decide to teach Mat how to use a sword when he had been so vehement about Mat’s 'practice' sessions before? It was not long though before his father came back into the barn, this time he had a rough wooden sword much like Mats. Gripping the wooden sword in his hands Thom grinned, an almost boyish look on his face and relaxed into a ready half-crouch.
"So let us begin" he said.

For the next two weeks each day after they had finished the work that had to be done around the farm Mat would find himself back in the barn, with his father teaching him swordplay. Sometimes his father only talked--giving oral lessons that Mat was quick to remember and put into practice. Other nights his father would show him Forms with the practice sword, or had Mat try to attack him with his sword. It was the nights that these duals took place that he was put most to the test. His father was a very skilled swordsman, and Mats previous practice sessions with the straw dummy had done very little to improve his own skills. Every time Mat would launch an attack his father would easily side-step it, or deflect it with a deft flick of his wrist. Eventually Mat noticed that his father was no longer as calm-looking as he had at the start of these practice sessions. His face soon took on a look of intense concentration and he was not as quick to predict where Mats next attack might come from. It was on the last day that his father would teach him swordplay that his father took him aside at the end of the day and told him proudly how much he had improved.
"When I saw you training by yourself on that straw dummy I thought you would hurt yourself at any moment. You barely knew how to keep the sword from smacking you as you swung it around" Thom grinned to take the bite out of his comment. Mat knew the truth of it now though and grinned back with him.
"I was very poorly skilled back then," he admitted, "but with these last couple of weeks of practice I have improved more then I had in months of practice with the straw dummy".
"That is very true; with a few more months of training you would be the best swordsmen around Brayerfield!" Thom was beaming at Mat--pride shining in his eyes. Suddenly Thom became tired and worn looking, almost nervous. He rubbed his hands together in a sign of unease. “I need you to do me a small favor son”, he said suddenly changing the subject. He looked worried. “I want you to take a letter in to Brayerfield for me. I have a friend who will be waiting at the Blue Plate Inn to take it.
Mat noticed his father had not given him a name and suspected he would not give him one; whether he did not know one or did not want to give one was not clear.
“How am I supposed to know who this man is when I see him?” asked Mat in confusion. His father was acting very unusual and it was making Mat nervous.
“He’s not from around here”, Thom said thoughtfully, trying to think of any details that might help Mat. “He has a nasty scar running down his left cheek up along to the bottom of his eye. He’s middle aged, and looks a nasty fellow at first glance; he’s a good man though”. Thom spoke as is he knew the fellow personally. He might very well, thought Mat, but he wasn’t going to pry into his father business.

The trip from the farm to Brayerfield was a good two hours walk. Mat found little to entertain him on the trip and his mind seemed to wander on its own accord. He found himself wondering what this business with the letter and the man was all about, and why his father had changed his mind about Mat learning swordplay. It wasn’t like his father to change his mind once he had made it up. His father had always been withdrawn since Mat’s mother had gone away; but in recent months he had grown even more withdrawn than usual. Mat felt sure that something strange was happening in his life, but could not for the life of him figure out what it might be.

Mat had been walking a little over two and a half hours when he at last was close enough to make out Brayerfield. The town itself was situated in a narrow valley between two tall mountains. The valley was narrow and the buildings that made up Brayerfield had begun to crowd upon the mountain sides. The valley was wide open from one end, the direction leading towards Mats farm; but at the other end the valley was narrow, eventually getting squeezed down to where only a single road could pass through it.
Mat took the main road going into Brayerfield. It was called Madors Path by everyone in town and the surrounding area; although nobody remembered why it had been named that. Madors Path was where everything in Brayerfield was: the inns, the shops, and all the people going about their daily chores. Mat was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he at first failed to notice a large group of soldiers surrounding a building further down the street from him. It took Mat a moment to realize that the building was the Blue Plate Inn—the same building he was supposed to find the man to give the letter to.
There was a commotion at the door of the Inn; three strong looking soldiers wearing polished gilded armor were dragging a man out in chains. The prisoner was wearing a light blue shirt with a flowing hood hanging around his neck. His stout wool pants and shirt bore the telltale scuff marks of a fight. The three soldiers dragged him out of the Inn and pushed the man roughly into the street; adding what looked to be a nasty bruise to a face that already looked like it had taken a beating.
It was then with a feeling of shock that Mat realized that the man the soldiers had captive was the same man his father had described to him—the man who he was supposed to give the letter to.
One of the soldiers, the Captain by the look of his armor, stepped forward and kicked the man in the chest—hard.
“You were here to meet somebody”, the Captain sneered—his face contorted in hate and contempt. “I want to know who it was you where waiting for!”. The Captain laid his hand on something under his cloak.
Looking up at the Captain the prisoner spat. He face filed with determination.
“I won’t tell you anything!” the man shouted. “Not even under the knifes of your finest torturer!” Even lying on the ground, beaten as he was, he was able to make himself seem almost arrogant—self-assured. Without blinking the Captain removed something from under his cloak and pointed it at the man lying on the street. There was a load roaring noise and a bright flash then the man clutched at his heart and fell to his side and lay there twitching until he died. A pool of blood began to gather on the street under his body.
Mat stared at the blood as it slowly spread away from the body of the dead man—filling the cracks in the road; the dead man’s eyes staring lifelessly at nothing. Without warning he felt sick, his head was spinning, and he could feel himself throwing up on the ground. Staggering away as if drunk he made his way away from what he had just witnessed. He made his way without thought and soon found himself at another Inn: the Twelve Kings.
The Twelve Kings was a seedy place; the kind of place you would find men willing to do some dirty work for the right price. The Inn itself however was very well maintained. The walls had the look of having been scrubbed clean recently, as did the floor. Everything in the Inn was clean. A fat man was standing behind the bar, cleaning a glass tankard that he had in his hand with a white cloth, idly watching the men scattered about the tables around the Inn.
“I’ll have a tankard of Ruiedeon Ale”, Mat told the barkeep as he took a seat on a stool in front of the bar. The fat man smiled. The smile might have been pleasant except that all the fat around his face made him look like a frog. He placed a filled tankard on the counter in front of Mat. Mat handed him some coins to pay for the Ale but did not immediately reach for the tankard. The sounds of dicing had caught his attention; along with the men doing the dicing. Or more specifically his attention was held by only one of the gamblers; a young man about Mats age. The young man was wearing a flowing red long-sleeved shirt and a white pair of pants. The man had been watching Mat as he had entered the Inn and taking advantage of a break in the dicing he stood up and came over to Mat.
“Mat! It has been too long”, the man said grinning; throwing an arm around Mat to hug him. Mat couldn’t help but smiley back.
“Rodean! What are you doing here? Last I heard you where training to become a wizard!” Mat said. Rodean seemed to hesitate for a second, and his grin faltered by a little bit.
“I had to take a break from my studies; I had to help some friends of mine” Rodean said after a slight pause. Mat could tell he was holding back but didn’t press him.
“You have to come back to the farm with me! Father will be so happy to see you”, Mat was practically dragging Rodean towards the door. “You have to come back with me”, he repeated.
“Alright! Just let me grab my things”, he said breaking free of Mat. He went back to the table where he had been gambling and grabbed a small traveler’s bag that was leaning against the wall. Returning to Mat he grinned and said: “Alright, now we can go”.

The trip back to Mats farm was slower than the trip from it had been. The two young men talked endlessly, catching up on what the other had been doing since they had last seen each other. Rodean was Mats best friend since early child-hood.; he had grown up on a farm close to Mats. It was just a year ago that wizards had come to Brayerfield looking for young men and women who might be trained to use magic. They had not exactly forced Rodean to leave, but Mat doubted they would have let him stay in Brayerfield even if he had wanted to. Rodean was supposed to be very gifted with the use of magic; stronger untrained than many wizards where even with decades of experience. Mat eventually told Rodean about the incident at the Blue Plate Inn, and was surprised when Rodean turned out to know about the soldiers who had done the killing.
“They must have been the Kings Guard”, he said nervously, looking around him as if afraid there may be somebody watching. Of course they had not seen as much as one man along the road for almost an hour now. “I heard some men talking about them once; they say that the King took the worst criminals out of his own prisons and had them outfitted with the best equipment and the best training. It’s said that the King uses these men to hunt down anybody who might be part of any kind of conspiracy towards him”. Rodean had a thoughtful look on his face and went on, Mat just listening in silence. “It's odd though; the King seems to have changed in recent months. He used to be a good ruler, a kind ruler people said. But now he seems to have turned dark; people talk about killings done at his order; people dragged from their homes without so much as a trial or explanation and murdered in the streets”. He seemed to be milling something around in his head and Mat took the advantage of the break in his talking to ask something that had been bothering him.
“The soldier who killed this man in the street—he used some sort of weapon I had never seen. It was a small thing, fitting in the soldier’s hand, and killed with a loud noise and a bright light!” Mat blurted out hastily; he was always curios about anything he had not seen before, or did not understand. As a child his father had gotten very angry with him one because he had taken apart a clock, an expensive commodity in these areas. His father had walked in to find a seven year old Mat on the floor with gears and springs and screws laying on the floor around him and a happy smile on his face. His father had been angry with him for months. Shaking his head to clear it of thoughts he listened as Rodean began to speak.
“What you described sounds like magic, except you say it was produced from an object?” he went on without waiting for an answer. “I’ve never heard of anything like what you describe. Perhaps if I had one to study I could tell you more”.
For the last couple of miles they talked very little. Each one seemed lost in thought.
It was Mat who first noticed the smoke rising above the trees a few miles from the road. Mat was shocked when he realized that the smoke was coming from where his farm was.
“Rodean, look! We have to run”, Mat almost shouted, and put action to his words by starting to sprint down the hard dirt road towards where his farm was. He could hear Rodean just a few steps behind, keeping up with Mats frantic pace.
As they got closer Mat’s ears could pick out the sounds of fighting; steel striking steel. As he cleared the grove of trees between himself and the farm he stopped abruptly. The farmhouse, his home, was in flames, and would be burnt to the ground within minutes. It took him a minute to realize anything other than the fire but when he did he almost wished he had not. Huge lumbering creatures were creeping around the farmyard. They had crooked hunched backs, and their bodies were rippled with massive muscles. Their hide was a dark black color and seemed to be seared with burns and cuts everywhere. Their heads where wide and had bullish features, with eyes that were disproportionately large in comparison to the rest of their head. They moved quickly for their size though.
At last Mat saw where the sounds of battle had come from; his father. Thom was surrounded by three of those huge brutish monsters wielding massive axes. Even outnumbered as he was he was holding his own; darting to and fro, with a sword that Mat had never before seen, slashing at the monsters. Mat was frozen with surprise but Rodean took action after quickly surveying the scene. He seemed to be concentrating very hard on the creatures when suddenly a red glow appeared around him. With a thrusting motion of his hands three huge projectiles of flame and smoke went hurtling towards the creatures, striking each one in the chest where they burned through the flesh into their bodies. Clutching at their chests where the fire was burning the creatures sank to their hoofed feet and slowly died. Thom stood straight once he saw that the creatures were dead and sheathed the sword he had been using. He came running towards Mat and Rodean, more of those creatures following behind.
“Run!” Thom shouted at them as he came running up to them. He didn’t slow down. Mat and Rodean followed his order and ran with all the strength they had. Mats father was leading them deeper and deeper into the woods. The sounds of the creatures behind them were getting dimmer and dimmer until they faded to nothing. They burst through a thicket of bush into a small clearing; dimly Mat thought he saw a man out of the corner of his eyes. Mat had only enough time to see a well-hidden camp before everything went black.

[Aumaan Anubis]

Reminded me of Eragon soooo much. But it's still pretty good.

Nice writing.

[NotZachary82]

indeed ^

maybe fix the indents for paragraphs?

[DemonicSandwich]

indeed ^

maybe fix the indents for paragraphs?

They are indented, forums remove that indent.

[NotZachary82]

They are indented, forums remove that indent.

... right.
<_>

[Supermodder911]

This sucks. XP