The Word Cloud

“Before Tearn was a year old, to put it more accurately, there was a global crisis which I myself wasn’t particularly involved in. It was my father’s crisis – he was King at the time. A powerful sorcerer had emerged from the dark North, bent on the destruction of this and every kingdom. Many kingdoms fell before him – an Eastern kingdom was the first to go, to surrender themselves and do his will. Not many in the East opposed him. His magik was so stunningly powerful that legend has it a single angry look could knock you to the ground. It is said that Merino” – “Capital of Yzet” Dinar murmured, naming an Eastern country he’d visited – “was built upon a section of desert that he’d melted into stone, to defy him, to show that he could not easily force the people of that country down. His name scared the life out of every person alive. Terror reigned. His creatures, things of darkness called the Trackers, swarmed into every city. They were not human and at night were stronger than anything Gera had. Hundreds of them like thin corpses walking the streets. They sniffed out the sorcerer’s enemies and destroyed them, falling upon them like hounds. They killed many people from Hren, from all over Gera. The sorcerer swept throughout the world, fighting the Dwarves and the Elves, gathering followers for his swelling armies. But still people opposed him, as they would. He gathered strength and overcame some of the most powerful witches, warlocks, wizards, sorcerers, mages, anything we could throw at him. Even witches like Rona, the forest witch whom you will know from the long-ago terrorising of Herblock village, stood in his way, refusing to give up their land, refusing to join forces. Rona was said to have been drained of her powers but, being a forest witch, survived and grew strong again. She lives in more solitude now, barely terrorising anything. Eventually, though, we asked for help. We’d been too proud. My father refused to acknowledge that such creatures like hags, vampires, harpies, centaurs, creatures we’d been hounding for years, could be our best chance to defeating this mysterious and powerful tyrant. It took him a number of years, breaking all sorts of banishments and over-ruling so many laws, to gather what the people called the Army of Myth. He himself rode out at the head of this army, to confront the sorcerer.

“The sorcerer met him as agreed, in no man’s land between the armies. He was shrouded in darkness and my father said he’d never seen a face so cold and unfeeling. My father, the King, demanded that he retreat from his lands and leave the neighbouring kingdoms that he had invaded. The sorcerer laughed at him.

“‘You mortal fool,’ He said to my father, with a surprising Geran accent, ‘Do you think that by telling me to that I shall do it? Do you consider yourself, as the current ruler of this land, more powerful and adept than I? Thoughtless King, you have no chance against me. Step down now and we shall not ravage your kingdom, kill your men, enslave your wives, steal your children and raze your realm to the ground!’ My father was not swayed by this and repeated that the sorcerer should leave. Again the sorcerer laughed.

“‘So be it, little King,’ He turned and rode back to his army on his horse as black as night. A ferocious battle ensued, that raged on for many moons. The sorcerer sat upon a cloud of darkness, sending down his magik to tear in my father’s armies and leave them trembling. Many died but the combined magik of the Army of Myth were able to sway him when none else could and he was forced into retreat for the first time. He came back afterwards, stronger than ever, with a bigger army. My father’s troops fought bravely and exceptionally. But the Trackers never tired, needing neither sleep nor sustenance. They hounded the Army continuously. Eventually, my father realised that they could not win. During the third moon of the battle, he called a meeting with the leaders of each kind, to discuss their options. It was then that the Dwarves’ greatest warrior made an entrance.

“‘If I may be permitted to speak,’ The Dwarf said, standing. He was given permission and stood at his full height, which was only a metre or so.

“‘For generations, we Dwarves have been creating powerful weapons carrying enchantments that brook no defeat,’ He said to the assembled, ‘Our most magikally able think they can create a weapon so strong that any being alive could not overcome it, given it is held in the right hands.’ The Elves obviously opposed this, but due to the history between their races, it was to be expected. In the end, the Dwarves were told to do it, to create this superb weapon. And they did, a sword that was so immensely strong that it was decided only the best warrior in the entire army should wield it. To everyone’s surprise, the best warrior who fulfilled the requirements of selflessness, loyalty and morality was a human. He was granted the sword and so the final battle began.

“The sorcerer had managed to get all the way to the noble city of Laar, and this is where the Army of Myth met him. The battle that followed only lasted a few days but had more bloody carnage than any other war ever recorded. There seemed to be no end of the Trackers and the other Dark creatures that the sorcerer had coerced into joining him. The warrior with the unbeatable sword finally managed to break into the tower in the centre of Laar, where the sorcerer had settled. They fought tirelessly for hours. The warrior, however, got in the final blow. There was an almighty explosion that flattened Laar, leaving it a pile of rubble. The Trackers fled, howling like Banshees. The magikal explosion had brought every person with even a mild magikal talent for miles around to their knees. And though the warrior survived, practically intact, the sorcerer’s body was never found. It was suggested by many Royal Mages that his power simply engulfed him, having nowhere else to go. The reign of terror was over.

“I assume, Tearn, Miss Falls, that you have been made aware of the unexpected guests at last night’s celebrations. They were two of Errant’s most trusted spies, one being their most experienced warrior. They brought with them dreadful news. There have been reports of skeletal figures, chalk white with glowing red eyes, swathed in black cloaks, stalking streets at night in villages in the northwest of Errant. Grisly murders have been cropping up and disappearances are getting commonplace. Only last month, an entire village was found deserted, with indications of some almighty struggle. Yen the Great believes the Trackers have returned. And the implications of that would be disastrous.”

There was a moment of absolute silence. Melanie could almost feel the horror creeping up on them. She had always known there had been some big battle, something huge, but this was out of her wildest nightmares. Her mind skimmed over the details – how were they meant to deal with this a second time if they barely survived the first? This should have been a time of safety and yet King Rolan was suggesting that everyone’s lives might be in danger. Melanie liked her life at the moment. This, however, didn’t come into it at all.

“What do you want me to do, Father?” Prince Tearn said, cutting into Melanie’s thoughts. Melanie turned her head slightly to stare at him. Do? He was taking this well.

“I want you and your protectors,” The King nodded at them, “To travel north. There seems to have been some disturbances with a few villages and a band of nomads. I do not believe the commotion had anything to do with Trackers but if these rumours have but a seed of truth, the world could become a much more dangerous place. Yen the Great has sent an army to investigate the villages and track down any of these supposed Trackers. We must do the same.” They nodded.

“Where are we headed, your Majesty?” Dinar asked, getting straight down to business. This was his kind of task. Looking for an enemy, finding an enemy and potentially beating the living daylights out of an enemy in the wild savannah land of northern Gera. King Rolan reached for a rolled up scroll on the side of his desk and spread it out before him. It was an extremely old map of Gera. To the north was the deep brown and grey of the Bleak Mountains. To the east, Lornen and Scalo, two very different countries. She tried to remember what the smudged-out country to the west was but her memory failed her. She’d never really bothered with political geography. Her mental map was more of a ‘mountains, up; sea, down; avoid that way’ kind of affair. The King pointed at a small group of villages just above a wide area of forest.

“This is your destination. The first village is Salds, a usually thriving market town. There should be much activity there, what with the nomadic traders coming in and people from the neighbouring villages arriving to celebrate the harvest.” Melanie noticed Vanessa had produced a notebook from somewhere and was writing as fast as Melanie could think. Melanie couldn’t think of anything worse than throwing herself into trouble when her life was just beginning to look up. The King paused and looked up at them all. His face was once again pained and it struck Melanie that he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

“I do not wish to push you into danger. I can just as easily send a band of warriors but for the publicity. However, it is perfectly natural that a Prince should want to travel – it is not natural to send warriors off if nothing is wrong. It is your decision.” Melanie squirmed under his gaze. It was like he could read her mind and now she felt eternally guilty. Vanessa and Dinar looked at her. She took a deep breath.

“It’s not our decision,” She said and looked at Prince Tearn. For once, she didn’t know what he would say. His face was pale and drawn. He’d never faced anything like this. He was only sixteen, a few months older than her. He wasn’t used to fighting dirty if it came down to it – he’d only ever fought noble knights who respected each other and Melanie had a feeling these Tracker things would not fight fair. However, he was Prince Tearn. It was his duty. He had his honour and Melanie knew better than most his thirst for adventure. He longed to get out of the safe little cities like Hren and hit the wild country they were surrounded by. They all looked at him. Melanie crossed her fingers as he turned to his father and gave his answer.