The Shadow Scrolls: Series Book One, The Vale of Blood. PD Ph.D. Lorenz

twitch of the wrist and it would be accomplished with lightening quick reflexes. However, on that day, even the great steed Diokalees shuffled a hoof as the anticipation of the ride grew more thickly.

      The king himself was dressed in his winter white furs that covered his hardened leather and forged gold battle array. Upon his head sat the Crown of the People, a crown with a multiplicity of precious stones inside and out. Inside, the stones were polished smooth like river stones so as to be wearable and fit only for the king himself. Outside, they were cut and angled in precisely a manner so that the colors of the entire spectrum sparkled as the rays of the morning sun flashed from beyond the gently passing clouds. Each step was a measured one… measured not to create a performance of some sort, but rather, it was a measurement from within. And a question lingered within his mind…

      “Can I endure?”

      The moments hung in the air like the end of a strummed note in the midst of an orchestration. It created a silence save for the morning breeze that slipped through the trees. Servants of all sorts observed from beyond the windows and walls of the keep. So did the soldiers-at-arms who quietly followed the king as did two other servants as they delicately anticipated any kingly command.

      Halting Diokalees, the king ran his powerful vein swollen hand down the extent of the war horse as if to measure the length of his capability, for he knew that the ride would test his steed like no other. Upon reaching the golden horn of the saddle he, in one swift movement, swung himself aloft the horse and positioned himself upon its back. He was not a large man so the steed hardly moved beneath his weight. In fact, when the king walked amongst the population of the keep, he hardly stood out save for the fact that he wore the robes of royalty. At times, he would not wear them at all and no one would even notice his passing. His eyes were piercingly sharp and his face chiseled to a perfect balance between sparse and plump. His arms and legs were powerful enough to stand his ground if need be, but that of course, had never happened for most were awestruck by his shear commanding presence once they looked into his eyes. What they saw in his eyes was a quiet and gentle confidence that he wore like an invisible cloak and the sturdiness made one think that he were reading the very thoughts of his audience… perhaps he was. Besides that, his stature was that of many of the others in the castle, but the day that we have been speaking of had born something altogether different in the king.

      It was something foreign, and it captivated the whole castle. Some of the onlookers wept, others shook their heads as if realizing for the first time that what had been written down in ancient scrolls had finally materialized. Still others turned away from windows and doors to corral their emotions for they knew that change, permanent and everlasting, had finally come to their world. At long last, the day had arrived and the castle would never be the same. It would be empty as their king departed, and they would have to leave to be scattered about the realm. They themselves would be empty as well… they, like the castle that they loved, would be empty and it would be void.

      A long, lone trumpet blast shattered the dark mood and heralded the fact that the time was not a time for mourning, but rather, a time for rejoicing. Though change would be difficult, the ride had been prophesied from ages past and the occupants of the castle were well aware of its purpose though they did not fully know the depth of it. They did know, however, that it would be a turning point upon which not only the Realms of Irenay, but all realms would be hinged. And they knew that the hinge, and the door that was attached to them no matter how rusty and old it would grow, would cast a shadow that future generations would have to pass through and ponder.

      Seated atop Diokalees, the king fixed his eyes upon the horizon. He gazed past the peaks and valleys that lay between him and his destiny and calculated the time it would take to get there…

      Six days should do it, he thought to himself. I’ll rest as little as possible and stop even less… only for water, but no food. Food would only cloud my thoughts.

      Without interrupting his ponderings, and knowing that his faithful servants were by his side, he quietly removed his furs and handed them down to one of them. With outstretched arms, the servant received the robes as a tear escaped his right eye. The king gently rested his hand upon the curvature of his head in a reassuring “goodbye” gesture. Reaching to his head, and with steady hands, he removed the Crown of the People and handed it to the other. To that one, he only smiled, signifying his trust and confidence at its safe keeping.

      Immediately following the removal of the royal outer garments, his two armor bearers, who were massive soldiers-at-arms, presented weapons to their king. First to be presented was the long-bow, which was pearl white with ornate victory carvings on its shaft. It was made of Willowfeld, a wood found in only one valley of the realm. (In fact, it was to that valley that the king had set his course to that fateful day.) The wood itself was known for its strength as if petrified and its flexibility as if to be lithe. Its string was silvery, woven from hairs taken from the tail of Diokalees himself. It was strung as tight as muscle sinew. Next to be presented was the sword, double-edged and as sharp as a stinging winter wind. Its hilt was a crimson hue cured from the leather of a fine red heifer of the realm. Finally, the shield was presented, an exquisite formation of light weight green flint-stone called Emralhearth. It was the only tried and true protection that the king would ever carry into any battle. In fact, that same shield had sustained an innumerable number of strikes, but had never cracked, never failed, and showed no wear.

      To the armor bearers, the two soldiers that had presented the weapons, the king nodded a nod that only comes from the comradeship of battles fought… A comradeship blended like an elixir and mixed with the inner chemicals of elation and relief, triumph and disappointment. The soldiers knew that they were forbidden to ride with him that day and all they could do was return his nod.

      Thus, the ride began with a prompting by the voice of the king coupled with a gentle nudge of his steed as he stowed away his armament.

      “It is time my friend. Now we move forward,” commanded the king to his horse.

      Diokalees started with a gentle gait that carried them just past the crest of the mount. Below and beyond lay the Realms of Irenay, and to the south of that, thickly wooded forests beyond which lay his destiny. Though servants and attendants looked on, the king never once looked back, not even a glance. The trot quickly turned into a gallop, and the gallop increased with every stride. First one passed, then two, followed by three furloughs. Each distance passed with rapidity until the swiftness of the war-horse and rider matched that of the clouds above them. The race had begun at last, and the horse and rider quickly became as one almost blurred together.

      The two swept down from the heights of the castle mount and into the hollow below. The king, realizing for the first time that the day had produced a stunning morn, was heartened with a leap of joy from within. Sucking in the fresh morning air, he filled his lungs with its newness and encouraged Diokalees with a hearty yelp which the steed responded to with a leap.

      Following a road beaten down by the hooves of countless warhorses and wagons, they raced through shires, over dales, throughout forests, and across streams. For three days and nights they rode with only the slightest of stops at convenient waters. The small hamlets that they did pass were usually off the beaten path and stood amongst some trees or rivers in the distance. The sounds of pounding hooves were not uncommon, and up and to that point, not a soul had noticed the passing of the pair. However, on the third day, contact was made and it was not by accident.

      The rider finally rested his mount near a lake fed by a canyon creek for he himself felt that he could have continued, but then again, he wasn’t the one doing all of the work. Dismounting, he shouldered his bow and sword for so he wore them upon his back, and grabbed the reins. He then haltered the horse to the edge of the lake where the stream fed the waters. Once there, the steed drank in the clear water with ferocity. Before drinking himself, the rider used the cool liquid of the lake to wipe free the sweaty foam that had formed around the edges of the saddle and side straps that led to the stirrups. When the horse had been fully attended to, the king released Diokalees to graze amongst the trees which he was more than happy to do. At long last the soldier-king drank from the creek himself.

      By instinct, he refrained from slamming his face into the water though his parched throat begged him to.