The Shadow of the East: Chapter Two

[Yoshiko]

The Shadow of the East: Chapter Two ~ Setting Off

The next day, Lance had awoken bright and early, and got dressed in his finest set of armor, passed down in his family, known as Erzene. It was a set of chain-mail pants and shirt, covering up to one’s elbows, and lower shins. Over the pants, he wore a pair of rich blue, silky pants, and over the chain-mail shirt, he wore a black, long-sleeved tunic, covering his entire arm, up until his wrist, fully hiding the armor beneath. Over the tunic, he wore a large vest, trimmed with gold, and it still held the deep blue color as the pants he wore. For his feet, glinting mythril boots were placed to cover what the mail didn’t, and on his hands, he wore a pair of silver gauntlets, riding up to his elbows, which had jagged edges where each joint of his fingers bent.
Finally, he figured he’d be ready to go. Well, after he’d taken all the supplies he needed and packed them up. Lance planned on leaving for Falthalym once more, hoping to gain entrance to the capital, Fustamar. If the guards wouldn’t let him in, he’d force his way.
Now, allow me to take a moment to describe the village of Dramoor and its inhabitants. It was a peaceful little town, situated far west on the continent of Amaria. Not much happened there, even though Dramoor was the capitol of Darleanna, and it hardly ever rained, due to the area it was situated in. There weren’t many forests around; the land was mostly composed of plains and deserts, although there was the occasional exception.
Back in Dramoor, though, was one of these exceptions; there was a beautiful lake nearby, which many creatures came to drink from, as well as the people. They had built a type of irrigation system, leading to their farms and several houses, which worked more than adequately.
Not many religions existed in Dramoor; as a matter of fact, not many of the kingdoms were religious at all. Xiovi was the most spiritually connected, and the town most intact with religion was the capitol, Xianoor. The religion most often practiced was known as Selicetianity, founded by one certain saint known as Sarah Albecus, a woman who had traveled the world on foot, only to die because of it.
Lance O’Rien was not at all religious, nor was Azreal, or any members of their family; actually, they were quite the opposite, paying no attention to any Gods, or traditions, coming of age ceremonies, or sacrifices. And, as Lance sat in his room on his bed, in his suit of armor, a thought crossed his mind: If Gods aren’t real, but only thoughts of one’s imaginations, who are the real Gods then? Never mind my foolish thoughts… It is time to set off.
The prince stood, and paused before heading out of his door, a small lantern on his nightstand lighting up his pale face: icy, azure blue eyes, contrasting greatly with dark, crimson red hair, hanging over half of his face, hiding his right eye. Another thought came to focus as he stood in the candlelight: should he take Siegmand, the Twin Blade of Fire with him, he would be far too easy to find. What weapons to take then?
After some thought, he decided on a simple long sword, and a few small daggers he’d be able to hide under his clothing and in his boots.
As Lance decided he was ready to take his leave of Dramoor, a knock sounded on his door. Cautiously, a small silver dagger in his hand, he flung the door open, the tip of the knife pressed tensely against Kenneth Valkyrie’s neck. Lance, however, had his arm tightly confined with Ken’s hand, an unforgiving vice grip.
“Kenneth. Good to see you.” Lance said politely, lowering his arm, and tucking the blade in his hand into his mythril boots.
“Lance, what’re you doing? You pulled out Erzene? Why? You can’t think about leaving Darleanna again.” Kenneth demanded information from his leader, although he was in no position to do so. “I thought you telling the people you were leaving was an excuse to hide in your castle while you planned.”
“I am leaving, Kenneth. I don’t lie to my people like Azreal would.” Lance explained, looking over to his companion. “I’ll be going on alone, though. I needn’t a bodyguard, or anything of the type, Valkyrie. I’ll draw too much attention to myself than I already am in Erzene.”
“Then don’t wear your armor! Go as a simple country boy! No one would suspect you.” Kenneth reasoned with the arrogant Prince, pulling on his arm like a young child.
“Kenneth, I… Fine. I’ll go in a tunic, okay?” Lance told him, as he quickly pulled off the royal blue vest, followed by the mythril boots. Next, off came the black tunic, followed by the chain mail shirt and pants. “What color do you suggest is most fitting a ‘country boy’?”
“Red. Or blue, I suppose.”
“A lot of bloody help you are.” Lance snapped, before pulling out a solid red tunic. He slid it on, and fastened the brown belt tightly around his thin frame. “How’s this?” The Prince asked, looking over to Kenneth.
“Fine, for a country boy.” Valkyrie smiled.
Lance rolled his eyes and smirked absent-mindedly. “Oh, listen to yourself. You’re talking like my mother.”
“Your mother was much more of a kind soul than me.” Ken replied, suddenly becoming rather silent. “And you know that. Don’t bring her up.”
“Kenneth, what’s the matter? You never had a problem with speaking about my mother. What now?” Lance asked, concern filling his voice in a heartbeat. Kenneth had never retorted to his Prince, his Leader, the one he looked up to, like that. “Is something bothering you, General?”
“Your mother died far too early, Lancelot. Stop being so naïve. Open your eyes. Your brother killed them, and for this long, you’ve stayed idle!? By now, I thought you may have wiped out Tal’Salym, and taken the throne, but no! You were off visiting your little Tana Larance, Princess of Falthalym, making sure she was okay instead of your kingdom!”
Lance stood up, looking down angrily upon his finest Elite soldier, before placing a hand on the hilt of one of his small knives. “I was not checking on Tana, nor Matthias! I was seeking aid in my situation with my brother!”
“And in that time, Azreal just happens to take over!”
“ARE YOU SAYING I KNEW HE WOULD!?”
“I’M JUST SAYING IT’S SUSPICIOUS, LANCELOT!” Kenneth screamed, drawing out a short sword, in a shorter time than it had taken Lance to release his silver knife. Lance locked his knife with Valkyrie’s blade, and the two pushed each other back; Lancelot fell onto the bed, and Valkyrie fell against an oak nightstand, knocking a few of its contents precariously on the floor. “My Lord… Are you okay, Your Highness? Forgive me, I lost myself.” Kenneth stood, and walked quickly to his Lord’s side, pulling him swiftly to his feet.
“Kenneth Valkyrie, you realize what you just did is punishable by death. You’re lucky we go back a long ways, and you’re lucky Dramoor needs you. Now, excuse me, but I’d like to leave now.” Lance circled around Ken and made his way towards the door, grabbing his knapsack quickly as he flitted through the hall. Kenneth waited back a while, before quickly leaving the castle in a fluster.

Back out in the village, Lance had retreated to his friend Barmetheus’ house, a calm, quiet little getaway, as Lancelot liked to call it.
“Maybe, Lance, you should just leave now. If you see Kenneth again, there’s nothing stopping him from assassinating you right on the spot.” Barmetheus said, looking over to his friend.
“You don’t really think Kenneth would do that, do you? We’re good friends. We had a slight argument.” Lance told Barmetheus, glaring up at his companion. “An assassination is a bit extreme, wouldn’t you say?”
“You never know with that guy. He’s so rash, too quick to act. I think you should leave now.”
“You really think so, Barm?” Here, Lancelot’s good friend gave a firm nod of confirmation. “Very well. I’ll set off immediately for Falthalym. First, I must secure something in the Castle.” Lance stood from his wooden stool, and let himself out without a farewell.
What Lance had referred to, as “something to secure” was his sword, Esperanza. He walked briskly down the cobbled street of Dramoor and straight past the guards at the front of the Castle. They lifted their spears, and Lancelot walked through casually, although he was tense as ever. Down one hall, through the next, a door or two, another corridor, and through the large pair of oaken doors guarding the throne room; Lance looked down the massive room, examining behind each marble pillar, half-expecting Azreal to leap out from one and strike him down again, and then, he wouldn’t have a Phoenix to save him.
Lance was without help, on his own.
He walked to the throne, examined it for a minute, picked out a bloodstain, and sighed; bloodstains on the Sacred Throne of Darleanna? That was rather uncalled for. Blood was difficult to remove, however you went about it, and Lance found it terribly plaguing on gold. With another heavy sigh, he stood to the side of the throne, and placed Esperanza on the left armrest of it. Lance was ready to leave, now; it was time. He turned from his throne, gave one last look at its pitiful, empty chair, and then left, a look of stern hope on his face, rather than fear.
The village was disappointed with their rightful ruler departing to suddenly; however, Lance walked on, without a horse, his azure blue eyes scanning the landscape for any sign of movement, any life. There was nothing. The plains were dead.