Achil & The Dragon Lord Of Osgaroth Read online

  Chapter I

  Achil

  Achil knelt limply by the bed, so still, so quiet, a sharp contrast to the cries and struggles that had preceded the strange tranquil harsh calm that, but for a gentle breeze disturbing the hanging drapes, now filled the bed chamber. His head bowed, prostrated itself before a figure that had once been his reason to be. She lay unmoving lifeless, and by her side a baby softly cradled in her arms, that on birth had quickly given up its first and last breath. The King stood at his side watching the scene, his form slumped in grief and disbelief, his outstretched hand rested on Achil‘s shoulder. The King knew that such a loss would be felt both near and far, and the loss to the Kingdom of Findolin would be great indeed. His greying hair mournfully sunk to his heavy shoulders, his faded blue eyes betrayed the sadness he felt. The midwife moved to right an upturned table, but was prevented from doing so, and was ushered out by an attendant, who withdrew also with the remnants of blood soaked coverings; while another courtier placed over the limp almost shrunken bodies that lay on the bed a soft linen shroud which held the royal crest, a hawk hovering above a golden crown.

  Achil looked up, his eyes were vacant, unfocused, he slowly rose.

  “We should move her away from here, she’ll be more comfortable at home,” said Achil painfully.

  The King stared mournfully back at him.

  “I should ready the house for her arrival,” continued Achil. “She loves primroses in spring, did you know that?”

  The King slowly nodded tears welling up in his eyes.

  “Whatever happens, I’ve sworn to protect her. No harm will come to her; I am the Kings champion after all. Isn’t that what people call me, a champion.”

  The King sullenly nodded, once more barely containing his own grief.

  “You are the King’s champion,” replied the King softly.

  “Where’s my Marissa gone?” asked Achil not seeming to comprehend what had happened.

  “She remains your wife she’ll always be your wife, but she has moved on,” replied the King, with a heavy heart.

  “Moved on,” repeated Achil, there was a tremor in his voice, as he strained at the words.

  “She’s in a better place than we know,” said the King, vainly trying to reassure him. He gestured to an attendant, who silently stood in the doorway and at the Kings command entered the room and took Achil by the arm and led him away. His feet shuffled heavily on the stone floor, as he paused a moment blankly gazing up at the 'Sword of Champions,' that hung from the wall. It seemed to acknowledge him, proudly glinting with some inner hidden power. He stared wearily down at the floor.

  Agoran had watched helplessly as the drama had unfolded. As councillor to the King he was never far from his side. A tall proud man of many seasons, whose leather skin had been tempered by the sun and toughened by many years of conflict, his face softened at the sight of his young friends despair. He placed a consoling hand on Achil's shoulder as he shuffled passed. Agoran had been waiting anxiously at the door, unable to intervene as the drama before him unfolded, his sad aged eyes looked into Achil’s imperceptibly acknowledging his loss, and then he entered the room to stand by the King‘s side.

  “This is a desperate sorrow indeed,” whispered Agoran, whose tunic and breeches were as dark as the hour. “After today Achil was to take over leadership of the border guards; he cannot be allowed to do that now.”

  The King nodded. "My son will have to forgo his duties in Hecata and take his place in that regard."

  “And what of Achil do you think he will recover? They were inseparable, living one for the other,” continued Agoran. “He would often refer to her as his life.”

  “He must recover, but he must also be given time to grieve, as must we all,” replied the King.

  “What time do you think we have,” said Agoran. “You know of the rumours there is an empire in the east that might be ready to treat with the Mead.”

  “Agoran they’re just rumours, they mean nothing.”

  “Yes and when they cease to be rumours, it may be too late for us to act,” replied Agoran.

  “People say it is a vast empire, but tell me this, how vast can it be, when we’ve never heard of it before?”

  “True, and I’m sorry to have to pursue this matter at this time, but let's make sure that the first time we hear of them, is not the last time we hear of them,” said Agoran.

  The King now staring down at an empty bed turned to look at Agoran, “What are you proposing?”

  “The Mead have made many raids always striking at the border settlements and fleeing quickly back from whence they came, leaving us no time to react. So let us this time before they have an opportunity to reach an accord with any empire or gain any alliance that may harm our interests, strike fast and hard giving them such a bloody lesson, as to deter them from ever crossing into our lands again.”

  The King felt some disquiet, he knew the Mead well, how disparate they were as a people, but grief drove his decision that day.

  “Such an assault would take planning,” replied the King.

  “Then we should start planning immediately,” said Agoran eagerly.

  The King gave out a long heavy sigh, as he stared into Agoran’s eyes. “Make all preparations. But first make sure we know about our new adversary, if he actually exists.”

  Agoran nodded gravely and left the Kings side. The King turned his attention to the empty bed, his eyes shone silently in the gloom.