Chapter 1: Two Years Past

         Light filtered through the curtains and crossed the room, falling like a thousand shining stars on Grom’s face. He groaned and threw his arm over his eyes. The sweet dreams of night flew from his mind, giving way to another radiant morning.

         A knock came at the door. Grom opened his eyes and pulled his arm away. Familiar colors and shapes took form before his eyes. He looked around the spacious quarters; this was his home for the last two years. He laid upon clean, white sheets that covered a single-sized bed. The bed itself would have been somewhat small for the average man, but it made a fine place of rest for a dwarf like Grom. He scratched at his black beard, which was trimmed and tied off at the end. Like most dwarves, Grom was proud of the beard that hung down to his belt.

         “Rise and shine, Grom! We have drills to run. We wouldn’t want our troops to get soft,” a voice shouted through the door. Grom listened to the footsteps carry away from the door and fade off into the distance.

         He waited a few minutes before sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He slipped to the floor and walked barefoot across the cold, wooden floor to the window. He threw the curtains aside and gazed out into the heart of the town of Coneria.

         Grom never noticed the steady growth and expansion of the kingdom. Throughout the last two years, more houses and shops were constructed within the city walls. Beyond the protective barrier of the tall wooden walls, farmers settled the wild lands, cutting down the tall grasses and using the land to produce fresh fruits and vegetables for the expanding and growing number of families. Since the official start of Queen Anne’s rule, the people prospered.

         Grom’s eyes fell to the center of town. A stone statue stood tall–four brave souls depicted and gleaming in the sun’s warm reflection. Two half-elves stared at Grom; one leaned on a staff of stone, and the other stood tall with a majestic owl perched on his arm. A towering half-orc held a double-ended axe over his head and opened his mouth in an eternal howling rage. A mischievous halfling knelt down between the other three, holding a dagger in his right hand. They all seemed to turn toward Grom as he drew back the curtains.

         “Good morning, my friends,” Grom whispered.

         Another knock shook his door.

         “Come on, Grom! Let’s go!” the same voice called.

         “Give me a few moments. Have the men start their training,” Grom shouted back.

         “All right, but don’t be too long,” the voice replied.

         Grom turned away from his friends and the window. The duty of another day’s work called, and he gathered the strength to answer.

         He went about the room and gathered his possessions. He lifted a heavy axe and held it up tot he light. The silver blade shimmered, and Grom gazed at his reflection. He closed his eyes and saw his weapon plummeting over the balcony and down the vast mountainous cliff below the black dragon castle. He heard the echoing cries of the man clad in black armor as he fell into the bleak shroud surrounding Mortillus, The Blackened Isle. Opening his eyes, he turned to the door and opened it out into the hall.

         He wandered to a room at the end of the hallway. He entered and greeted the servants sitting within. Without a word, they stood and gathered the pieces to a suit of breastplate armor. They created a circle around him and pieced the armor onto his body, fastening his buckles and straps.

         Even though he went through the same process each day, Grom hated having others don him in heavy armor. He felt restricted by the weight and size of the armor, but he felt even worse for the servants. Most of them were young boys, sons of poor families that needed the extra income. He had spoken to some of them, and he knew their ambitions. Each one thirsted to one day be part of a war, and they hoped to be swept up and remembered for acts of foolish bravery. Grom warmed them of the dangers of combat, but his old stories only added fuel to their blazing hearts.

         Grom left the servants behind and strode through the front doors of the barracks. The walls fo the castle loomed nearby, and he gazed up at one of the windows. For a moment, he thought he saw someone staring down at him, but the image faded. He turned his attention back in front of him and marched into town.

         He did not have to go far until he found them. At least three dozen armored soldiers stood in a grassy field with their swords drawn. A tall man in grand armor stood before them, barking orders. With each command, the armored men swung their swords in sync, mimicking actual combat. Grom watched with much interest. This was only part of the guarding force, and many of these men held the same fire for combat in their hearts as the servants had. Grom saw no fear in their young eyes. They had never seen real battle; they never watched their friends die.

         “It’s about time, Grom,” the man shouting the commands said. He turned toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Good. You take over the drills for a while.”

         “This is a waste of time, Jonathan. How are they learning anything by swinging at the air?” Grom questioned. He looked up at Jonathan’s stone cold glare and turned to the soldiers. Grom scanned the lines and stopped on a soldier in the front row. He pointed his axe at him and stepped forward. “Tell me your name, soldier.”

         “Ragefist En, sir,” the man responded. He held his sword out like the rest of the line, awaiting the next command.

         “How long have you been training as a guard here, Ragefist?” Grom asked, eyeing the soldier.

         “Close to a year, sir,” Ragefist replied, frozen in his stance.

         Grom nodded his head. When he had been made a captain of Coneria’s military two years ago, Grom wanted to get to know each and every soldier. He found that with all his responsibilities, he was unable to know the men on a first name basis. Even though he knew nothing about him, there was something about this man that caught Grom’s attention. His light brown eyes fixed forward with an intense focus that reminded Grom of Prescott. Grom pushed away the thought of his fallen companion and returned his mind to Ragefist.

         “Step forward,” Grom commanded. Ragefist complied and held his sword at his side. “The rest of you watch closely. Are you ready for a real challenge?”

         “Yes, sir!” Ragefist shouted.

         Grom raised his axe and waited for Ragefist to make the first move. Ragefist lifted his weapon and sidestepped around Grom in a circle. Grom shifted his feet and kept his weapon up in defense. Grom doubted Ragefist would come after him in a spectacular fashion; he waited for the young soldier to charge headlong into combat with a mighty cry.

         Feet danced in a slow, methodical pattern. Ragefist kept his weapon steady and remained steadfast. Grom narrowed his eyes and grunted. Every muscle in his arms twitched with the need for combat. Those young eyes watched him as he stepped in a wide arc around Grom.

         “This is no ball, lad!” Grom shouted. He felt his patience wavering like a heavy weight fastened at the end of a piece of string. Ragefist did not answer his insult; he walked along the circled path with focused eyes peering through the slits of his helmet.

         The string snapped, and Grom’s patience fell far below. He charged forward and howled up into the air. Ragefist reacted with a fluid motion, planting his feet into the ground and deflecting the blow with his sword. However, Grom’s momentum pushed Ragefist back. The young solider caught his footing before tumbling over and bought his sword up to block another swing from Grom’s axe.

         “If this were a battlefield, you wouldn’t stand a chance. You have to do more than defend against your enemy,” Grom said, swinging another shot that Ragefist slipped away from. Grom snorted and kicked Ragefist’s leg, sending him falling to one knee. “A fight cannot be won by running and ducking. Find an open spot and attack!”

         Grom drove his axe straight down, but Ragefist tumbled backward. Grom’s blade sunk into the soil, and he struggled to pull it free. Ragefist used the opportunity to charge and tackled Grom to the ground. Grom’s eyes fell shut as the force of the fall drove the air from his lungs. He opened his eyes and saw the top of a sword glistening above his nose. Ragefist towered above him and pulled his sword away, replacing it with his hand. Grom accepted it and took the aid to his feet.

         “Excellent job, soldier. You proved me wrong–you are ready for combat,” Grom said, patting Ragefist on the side. Grom walked over to his axe and pulled it free. He looked up at Jonathan, who grinned from ear to ear, and cleared his throat. “Pair off and practice parrying one another’s attacks! Let’s get moving, men!”

         The soldiers began to shuffle and face off against one another. Grom watched Ragefist re-draw his sword and reflect the oncoming blows from his opposition. A hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Grom turned and looked up at Jonathan.

         “Thoroughly whipped by one of your own men,” Jonathan said with a grin, “It appears that the teacher still has a lot to learn.”

         Grom did not respond. He turned his head back toward the men, but something broke his attention. A horse-drawn carriage rolled through the center of town and made its way toward the castle. Four white stallions leg the way, moving in time with each clip and clop of their shoed hoofs. Grom had never seen such elegant and strong beasts. A single rider clad in a gray cloak sat atop a wooden seat at the top of the carriage, cracking a whip against the back of one of the horses. Green silk sheets covered the windows and shielded Grom’s view of whoever sat inside.

         “What in the world is that?” Grom asked aloud.

         “That would be tonight’s honored guest,” Jonathan said. Grom forgot that he stood beside him and jumped at the sudden answer. “Lord Delcor from Blackmore–he traveled a very long way across The Sea of Blood to be here tonight.”

         “Lord Delcor,” Grom repeated under his breath. He watched and listened to the horses as they neared the castle walls. “I know of the rumors about the problems between Anon and Flame, but what business does an aristocrat from outside of Lodoss have here?”

         “He has not come to discuss the rising tempers between the elves of Anon and the people of Flame. He has other business,” Jonathan said.

         “Other business?” Grom asked, raising an eyebrow.

         The carriage stopped in front of the guarded bridge. The driver stepped down and opened the door on the side. A white-gloved hand reached out and grabbed the door, and a man in clean, elegant blue clothing stepped out onto the ground. The tall, regal gentleman adjusted the glove on his left hand and gazed up at the castle. His pointed nose wrinkled, and he shook his head. After giving his short, parted blonde hair a quick pat, he strode forward past the guards and into the castle.

         “Yes, he shall be the first among many to be visiting our lady, Queen Anne,” Jonathan said.

         “For what reason?” Grom asked, turning to face Jonathan.

         Before Jonathan could answer, a guard marched from the castle and bowed before them. He raised his head and looked up at Jonathan.

         “Sir Jonathan, Queen Anne requests to speak with you at once,” the guard said.

         “Very well,” Jonathan replied. He waved at the guard in a dismissing manner, and the guard turned back to the castle. Jonathan turned back to Grom and motioned toward the training soldiers. “I’ll leave you to the men. Make sure they get a good workout.”

         “Jonathan,” Grom insisted, grabbing his wrist. “Tell me what’s going on!”

         “You’ll find out sooner than later,” Jonathan said. He patted Grom’s shoulder and followed the guard toward the castle.

         Grom stood and watched his fellow commander disappear across the bridge and through the castle doors. Jonathan’s words and mannerisms struck Grom as being strange. He was hiding something, and that did not sit well in Grom’s mind. He remembered back to when he and Jonathan first met. Grom and his companions came together to save Anne from a sinister kidnapper, and Jonathan greeted them with cold uncertainty. However, Grom was given the honor and opportunity to work alongside and step into Jonathan’s world as a leader of Coneria’s forces. Since that day two years past, Grom gained a newfound respect for the hot-tempered human.

         Jonathan had never hidden anything from Grom before, and he was rightfully concerned.

         Grom turned back to the men and watched them swing their swords as one unit. His eyes fell back upon the young man named Ragefist and studied his technique of guiding his blade with near perfection of speed and grace. There was indeed something about him that set him apart from the other men, something that heroes were made of.

         “Very good, men,” Grom shouted. He clapped his hands and waited as they reformed into lines. “For all your hard work I’ve decided to give you all a break. Go and enjoy the rest of your afternoon. You are dismissed.”

         An excited cheer rose from the collected force, and the men went off to the barracks to get out of their hot armor and into some cooler clothing. Grom turned back to the castle and stared at the carriage. The rider had returned to his seat and led the horses toward the royal stables. Such beautiful white stallions would no doubt stick out amongst the brown and black skinned animals. Grom wondered just how long they would stay amongst Coneria’s own horses.

         “Excuse me, sir,” said a voice behind him. Grom turned and looked up at Ragefist. The young soldier reached up and pulled off his metal helm, revealing a handsome face of nearly twenty years. His hair fell to his shoulders and shined like gold in the bright light of the sun. His words came out deeper than one might expect from such a young man. “I want to apologize for besting you and making you appear silly. That was not my intent.”

         Grom laughed, grabbing at his sides and shaking his head at Ragefist. “Don’t you be apologizing to me, lad! You outsmarted me, and I’ll be the first to admit that you beat me fair and square. I’m amazed at how skilled you are. You fought with the spirit of a dwarf and the reserve of an elf.”

         “Well, I was trained by a talented swordsman before traveling to Coneria. Like yourself, he was a dwarf that went by the name Rusty Barthatch,” Ragefist explained.

         “Owner of The Rusty Anchor Inn! I’ve met him once before, but that was many years ago. Any student of Ol’ Rusty knows what he’s doing for sure,” Grom bellowed in a proud voice.

         “If you don’t mind me asking,” Ragefist began, “Do you know anything new concerning the struggle between Anon and Flame?”

         Grom stared up at Ragefist and sensed the eagerness in his words. He saw the interest and lure of real combat in his sparkling eyes. Grom frowned as memories of his friends returned. Their deaths flashed like a flipbook in his mind, still vivid and accurate as when it all happened. The dagger through Isac’s chest, the boulder crushing Shenk, Cloey’s collapse to the cold ground, and Prescott’s final words flickered like the light that raced across Mortillus’s darkened sky on that fateful night.

         He wrestled to focus on the question asked of him. It all began over trade disputes. The Council of Five Elders, the five elven priests that ruled Anon, refused to allow merchants coming from the much larger kingdom of Flame to sell their wares in their market. After the proclamation, the elves found that merchants of Flame still came to hawk their products, which led Anon to enforce the declaration with armed soldiers. Merchants were turned away at the gates, but some stayed to argue and protest the unfair judgement. Several months ago, a caravan from Flame came prepared with their own soldiers and was convinced that the merchants should be allowed inside the city walls. Things turned ugly, and a battle ensued outside of Anon, killing four men total and wounding six. Ever since that day, Anon closed its gates and cut off all ties with the major kingdoms of Lodoss. Rumor spread that the elder elves spoke with the wild elves that dwelt among the forests, and Anon’s own troops had been spotted in the wilderness.

         Queen Anne sent a group of soldiers to deliver a message to the ruling elves, but the guards of the city turned them away and sent them back with the rolled-up parchment.

         “I have heard nothing new,” Grom answered at length. He did not know what else to tell Ragefist and hoped his words would suffice.

         “I see,” Ragefist said. His head drooped in disappointment.

         “Listen, you go enjoy the weather and rest for tomorrow. Jonathan and I are going to work you to the bones,” Grom said with a grin.

         Ragefist nodded and extended his arm. Grom stared at it for a moment before grasping his wrist and nodding back.

         “Perhaps I can whop you again later tonight. I wouldn’t mind the extra practice,” Ragefist snickered and grinned down at Grom.

         “If you’re that eager to get some welts, then meet me here at sunset,” Grom said. He released his grasp on his arm and took a step back. “And don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

         “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ragefist said.

         They nodded to one another one last time, and Ragefist marched off to the barracks. A few of the other soldiers emerged through the doors in short-legged cloth pants and sleeveless shirts made from ragged linen. Grom knew well the stress that training and combat could bring, and he wanted the men to enjoy the other, more frutiful things that life had to offer.

         Besides, there were questions that still remained unanswered.

         He walked across the grassy field and made his way to the castle bridge. The stationed guards saluted him as he passed through the open doors and into the large, open gathering room. The same statue of Queen Anne stood in the center of the furnished room, and it was a welcome sight for Grom’s troubled thoughts. He stepped up the spiraled staircase and followed the long hall on the second floor. He stopped outside one of the many doors along the way and stood facing it. Without even realizing, he reached out and twisted the knob, pushing the door wide open. He stepped inside and recognized the guest bed immediately. He had spent more than one night in this very room. It was also here that Grom held his dearest memory. On the same day that he would be named captain of Coneria’s defenses, Anne had slipped into the room to speak with him, and she thanked him with a kiss. He still felt her soft lips against his own–a single moment that remained in his heart forever.

         Grom pulled the door closed and continued on to Queen Anne’s throne room. As he neared the double doors, a guard stepped forward, and Grom slowed to a stop.

         “Sir Grom Graystone, the queen is currently busy. I believe it would be best to return another time,” the guard said. The words sounded less like a suggestion and more like a command.

         “What exactly is going on?” Grom asked, standing his ground.

         “Queen Anne and Sir Jonathan are speaking with Lord Delcor concerning the crown of Coneria’s kingship,” the guard replied.

         Grom’s mind went blank. He opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound he could produce was a weak whine from the back of his throat. He felt a sharp pain in his side as if someone had jabbed a knife through his skin.

         “What do you mean?” Grom managed to utter.

         “Did Sir Jonathan not inform you?” the guard asked. His face scrunched up in confusion at Grom’s reaction. “Queen Anne has been advised to find a nobleman to sit beside her as King of Coneria. Lord Delcor of Blackmore is the first to arrive. Many more shall come these next few days from around and outside of Lodoss to meet with the queen.”

         Grom turned away from the guard and walked away from Anne’s throne room. He could barely hear the distant voice of the guard as he turned the corner back down the long hall. He stopped at the guest bedroom and slipped inside. Grom closed the door and fell on the guest bed. He closed his eyes to push away his thoughts, but he could only see her gentle face with her glowing blonde hair and her radiant smile.

         Love, hate, anger, sadness, pity, jealousy–these were only a few of the emotions that raged through his head at that moment. The thought of Anne with another man made him physically and emotional sick.

         He opened his tear-filled eyes and stared at the blurry ceiling. He remained there, unmoving, as the sun descended across the sky.

ID: 1020172   (Rated: 13+) Chapter 2: An Old Friend  Grom's peace is disturbed by the threat of thieves. by The Lemon