My Paused Novel - Prologue.

I actually started writing my own fantasy a little while ago and I had gotten four/five chapters in before I took a break as real life stuff came up. I'm planning on getting back to it when I'm less busy, but I thought I'd share the unedited prologue. Still a lot of things I'm going to go back and change about this chapter (and every other).

Prologue

“How do we know it isn't a demon?”
“Because it's a fish.” Gald snapped at the boy. He was never fond of his brother's son, the boy had a curiosity that had always made him feel uncomfortable. He had once questioned Gald about his wife's absence from first rise of the sun until supper and despite how many times Gald had refused to divulge his past to a boy of twelve, the child was persistent and had a way of bringing the worst out in his uncle. He regretted not standing his ground against his brother when he suggested bringing the boy along. “I'm here to fish, not to teach.” he had said in the morning.
“Have no fear, Gald, under your tuition, my boy would have no hope of catching a fish.” japed his brother. He had never taken his brother's humour well – mostly because it was usually aimed at his demise. Even beneath the hanging willow trees beside the river Gryver, the pair had managed to dampen his experience with constant remarks towards his lack of skill.
“Brother, be gentle. Aaron meant no harm. He has been talking of demons, angels and monsters for the past week ever since he saw that mummer's play about the Creature of Coldmount”
“You should never have taken him to see such. Father would never have taken us to see such things.  He did not believe in folk tales of myth and legend. He was a man of his profession, not some silly heroic mule-brain that seeks mention in a bard's tale.”
His brother smiled, his lips spread the length of his face. Gald predicted something witty, at his expense, was perched upon his brother's mind and he knew exactly what that thought was, but he wouldn't allow his brother to have his laugh.
“I do not know why I must keep repeating myself. I was never once disturbed by the tale of the 'Exile and the Succubus'. I was cautious of the one telling it – something was just off about him.” His brother laughed and Gald found himself tightly gripping the handle of his fishing rod.
“I said nothing, brother.” Son and father shared a chuckle, which only made Gald's fingers become a rose shade of red against the clutch of his handle, “It's getting late – let us head back before you need replace your rod.”
They gathered their belongings and packed them so that they be easier to carry home. In truth, Gald was petrified as a boy of all things mystic and treacherous. He absorbed the stories and brought them to his bed each night, seeing shadows in the dark of his corners. His brother tormented any time his bladder spilled down his legs. His father had scolded him with a belt for waking him in the night from nightmares of torment about mountain beasts and sea serpents; for every hour of sleep lost, he had been marked across his backside. After that, he learnt to conceal his fears from those around him and had taken to pinching himself when such thoughts arose.
The legend of the Exile and the Succubus that stole his heart was one that still sent shivers down his spine. It troubled him to think that a demon could take the shape of a human to weave their plots together. It is said that a great demoness, a leader of sorts, seduced a lieutenant of the angelic armies during the war of the higher beings. She had him deliver her the Life Shard upon the mortal planes – a device capable of creating and destroying life – but the angel was sought out by humanity, of whom stripped him of his wings and stole the shard for their own. This tale is the only one that suggests demons could mimic humans, which erupted a paranoia within the imagination of Gald's young mind. He still blamed that tale for the suspicion he held against his former wife, of whom had fled him during the night to travel the world with her smitten bard. He hated singing and lutes for that affair. I am no boy now, demons do not frighten me. No one has seen one for thousands of years.
They had a little way to walk and they would need to keep haste for fear of being taxed upon entry at Frotvir. He had no coin on his person and he was right to feel anxious for that. Lord Raymond Talby had imposed a curfew tax upon anyone trying to enter the town past sundown, a result of all the recent attacks upon residents by bandits and thieves whom have passed freely prior to the tax. The bandit clans just east of Frotvir have been continuously becoming more of a threat towards the merchant trade routes, occasionally within sight of the town's walls. This too had been a recent occurrence and Lord Raymond was taking no precaution; a suspicious man would be turned away at the gate. Gald could swing a sword as hard as any man, though his skill with one was questionable. He had spent his life piecing stone and clay together, building walls and palisades for the town. He was a straggled man from the outlook, but his chest and arms gave a false broadness to his stature, of which, he was glad for because it often deterred unwanted social interactions.
The pale grey walls of Frotvir came into sight. They were built tall and thick, able to withstand a siege from a petty lord of equal strength to his own, though a well made ram could crush the gate like a hammer upon chalk. It was a port town which boasted its capability to build fine ships. Gald had worked on one of the galleons himself, contracted to help build it during the winter months when others could not withstand the chill. The town was built within a canyon beside two great hills which were impassable. It had two entrances, one facing the east toward the woodlands and hills beyond and the other to the open sea. Upon the sea entrance stood a tall old gate, which could withstand the greatest of cannon fire or sea-rams that the world had to offer. It was a wonder to behold and thick as two city walls, laced with fine steel and hard wood. As of late, they had made use of the gate – closing it when dusk came. Pirates had been sighted far off shore and the sea watchers were told to close it upon sight of any coming too near. Merchants who lost coin due to the curfew and diminished trading hours often spoke ill of the lord behind emptied tankards, referring to him as the paranoid prat of Pratt hill (the hill adjacent to his keep). Gald was proud to server under a cautious lord, better that than one garbed in hindsight.
Two town guards approached them as they drew near, both clad in pale grey tabards with symbol of an anchor and coiled chain upon its crest, the family sigil of House Talby.
“Lucky fe'you lot, we were about to start rounding up coin. Say, we might still if ye' don't part with one of those trouts you got there.” The guard sniffed back a trail running from his nose, wiping it on the back of his leather glove. Aaron brought the smallest one from the bottom of the barrel, lifting it up high enough the guard had to recoil from the waft that he inhaled. The boy's street smart, at least. The guard eyed the fish as he waved his hand, signalling for the trio to enter through the gate.
The town was more alive during the evening than it was in the day. Most folk took advantage of the light to head down onto the port or to enjoy the freedom of the exterior of the wall, though few went very far and oft used the wall as their guide. Stools were still open, fires lit to show off their wares. Groups of children skittered about, playing their night-time games of 'bat the bat', an unfortunate child would be picked to be covered in mud and had to hide whilst the others sought to soak him with seawater they had gathered in the day; Gald was often picked as the bat until he grew into his body – then he wasn't even asked to join in. The largest of the two taverns was full of rowdy, drunken louts that were celebrating something new every night or simply drowning themselves in music and whores. Gald departed from his brother, seeking the quieter of the taverns – 'The Rancid Oyster'. The name was said to be part of the reason few frequented there, but Gald had learned the truth from the innkeep. Frotvir was once a port town founded by pirates, until Queen Aria the Heartfelt sent a thousand swords to rid them of their land and half that many ships to rid them of their sea presence. The innkeeper had said that his great, great grandfather had supplied the attacking force with quenched thirst and filled stomachs upon victory and their captain thanked him by leaving it the only structure not reduced to rubble.
Gald found himself spending most nights beneath the comforts of its roof, ordering the same fish soup and mug of ale each reoccurring day. He had his own spot in the corner, which was often warmed by the fire nearby but not so close as to draw attention to him. This particular night, a stranger was sat upon his seat and Gald found himself becoming possessive.
“I usually sit there.” remarked Gald, peering down at the stranger, attempting to be somewhat intimidating. The stranger's head turned to face Gald but he saw only black beneath the hood that his face was hidden beneath. He was draped in dark grey robes, with a black moon pattern across the chest that seemed to go to the waist, though the table blocked Gald's vision. He felt a shiver run down his spine, childish thoughts of this man's appearance crept into his mind – if he lowered the hood, he may have serpents slithering through holes in his cheeks, snapping at one another before hissing up at Gald. Perhaps his eyes were entirely black, blood weeping from them as his nails turned to razors. Gald found himself lowering his hand to his belt, feeling the frame of his short-sword’s hilt.
The stranger dropped his hood and smiled pleasantly. He was a comely middle-aged man with a gentle grey beard and a mop of dark hair that had been clearly dyed to preserve an illusion of youth. “Easy there, Gald Builder, I meant no harm in thieving your seat, though I would be grateful if I could steal your ear” The stranger's accent was not one he had heard often, a man of Marona – a southern Kingdom. Gald picked at a scab on his elbow, thoughts of provocation now distant memory. He sat opposite the stranger and smiled half-heartedly, he hated being disturbed in his frequented temple.
“What is it you want, stranger?”
“Apologies, I am quite a fool at times, I have not introduced myself. I am Dordio, a peddler of tomes and spices.” He bowed his head momentarily, closing his eyes to do so.
“You're a spice merchant?”
“I do not like to use that term. I'm far superior to others of my trade for I actually provide two services. Two unlikely combos. Literature and good taste... and then you have the spices.” Dordio chortled at his own jest, though Dordio was becoming frustrated with the uninvited company. His stomach rumbled and all he could think about was the warmth of soup replacing his mundane day. Garb's irritation showed and he went to bark at Dordio when a bowl was placed in front of him by the innkeeper’s daughter, along with a hefty mug of ale. He eyed it suspiciously, questioning his own actions.
“Again, I must apologise. I presumed you would be hungry and I inquired as to what you usually satisfied yourself with.” Dordio brushed his hand through his hair as Garb scooped a spoonful of soup into his mouth. He was willing to listen to the man until he had finished. “I am to propose an alternative trade route to your lord, one which would be fortified against raiders to the east. It passes through safe territory and will have guard posts to prevent attacks. I do this for my own sake and out of a moral obligation, I suppose. I had heard you are quite the sought after builder.” Garb drank deeply from his mug; in truth, he hadn't had any work since winter and his coin was running worryingly low, “I wish to suggest you to lead the build. You will be well compensated and have guards from my own pocket. I wish to set a tax upon the road of which will go half to me, half to yourself and those you choose to work with.” Gald was smiling by the end of it. He had hardly touched his soup, thoughts of being able to leave the town spilling through his mind like leaves dropping from an autumn oak. Dordio seemed to read Gald's reaction well because he ordered more ale. The two began to talk freely.
Hours of conversation passed, Gald had provided his entire family history and his own building history, with plenty additions, to the peddler and in turn, Dordio had provided him with tales from the southern kingdoms and the far east.
“How is it that I have not seen you before, Dordio? The merchants in Frotvir are almost recognisable by name” Gald let out a hiccup, “certainly by face.” Dordio had no struggle deciphering Gald's slurred speech but his answer was not quite what Gald expected.
“Merchants are rarely allowed inside your gracious town. I found my own way in. A game. Three guesses. If you guess correctly, I will buy you a final drink before I take my leave.”
“Three?” Gald questioned, Dordio nodded in turn, “You paid a captain to deliver you in and bribed the dock guards.” Dordio shook his head, Gald had to take a moment to think. “You bribed... the east gate?” Dordio shook his head.
“For your third guess, I do hope you think broader than that. I am quite confident you will guess correctly. A secret way into the town, one only a builder would know of.”
Gald laughed. He knew the answer and he felt foolish for not thinking of it previously, “The postern gate. You found it and pick-locked it. Always did have a flimsy lock, though that's the locksmith's job – not mine. Ain't no blame going to fall onto Gald.”
“Which postern gate?”
Gald raised his mug in victory, “There's only one, merchant. At the back of this very inn, hidden behind the fountain.”
Dordio stood and placed coin enough for thrice the amount of drinks promised, to which Gald smiled in thanks. The man smiled down to Gald, bowing his head in the same manner he had greeted him in before departing for the door. Gald kept the coin and made his way home to the comforts of his bed.
Two nights passed before screams had replaced the songs and cheers from the larger tavern. People were running out drenched in blood, some even their own. Gald had been walking toward the merchant square to find Dordio when he had seen a fire blazing over 'The Rancid Oyster'. Shapes of men were pulling the innkeeper from their home, slicing their throats to stain the green grass beneath their feet. He was no hero, he loved the contents of the tavern but not the building nor its residents. He watched as men, faces covered in painted patterns, washed into the town taking it unaware. Guards met them in battle and the scream of steel on steel drowned the screams. He felt himself shaking as he watched a woman drop to the floor in front of him, her arms severed from the elbow – her stumps reaching out to him. No magic could save her, certainly no builder. He found himself running. It had all happened so fast, he had no idea where to head. He wanted to return to his brother and help him gather his family but he couldn't. He tried to turn, but his feet wouldn't let him – they just pointed toward the docks.
He ran through the merchant's square and it seemed to be silent. This part of the town had not been affected by the onslaught. He found his pace slowing; keeling over, he threw up the contents of his stomach upon the ground. He was physically shaken, the image of the woman clawing up at him haunted his thoughts. No, you have to keep moving. You have to survive. He found himself walking – he did not know why, but he felt calmer when the screams were distant. His steel was absent from his belt and he felt as a child without it.
As he approached the dock gate, he noticed that soldiers of Lord Talby were blocking it, preventing the small crowd of fifty or so that had gathered from passing through. There were demands, bribes and even begging but the guards remained silent, holding their steel in the direction of the citizens they're sworn to protect. One shouted over the crowd, a stout man that Gald could only see the helmet of despite being on the higher raise of the slope.
“Lord Raymond Talby has ordered all citizens to return to their homes and to lock the doors and arm themselves. The docks are off limits until the riot has been quenched.”
Roars from the crowd grew louder, “They're killing everyone!” a pretty auburn haired girl shouted, “They're a bandit clan, not people of Frotvir!” a man shouted. The words of the crowd became intelligible but Gald pushed himself through to the front, until steel was pointed towards him. He joined the roars of the crowd, but he could not hear his own voice – he had hoped he was chanting in a brave manner, roaring for aid to drive the attackers back, but he was certain that was not the case. The contents of his bladder spilled down his legs and he felt like a child once more.
The crowd had grown in size and the shouting seemed deafened the guard reading out the orders of the lord. The crowd was a boat upon stormy seas, rocking as people shoved those around them. Gald felt a man's palm collide with the side of his head and he felt almost groggy from the impact, he found himself retaliating by pushing the man back. A riot was on the verge of forming before the crowd and soon blood would be spilled among those that used to greet one another with pleasant morning greetings and drank together as friends and neighbours; a human will go a long way to survive. A sudden silence befell the crowd.
Everyone was turning to face the back of the crowd, looking up at the top of the slope that lead down to the dockland gate. Gald's eyes followed, widening as he saw what was situated there. It was impossible to tell how many of the bandits were staring down at the crowd, peering down without any remorse for their actions, vultures staring down at a courage stripped carcass. Their bodies had little in the way of armour, their faces open but covered in tribal patterns that made them seem primitive. Gald did not see a single sword that was not drenched in blood. In turn, they all began to make a clacking sound with their tongues. When a couple started, it sounded like the raindrops dripping from a gutter but when they united, it became a river – Gald's bladder added to the immersion as the remnants of it emptied again.
Lord Talby's men were the first to react, pushing through the crowd in an attempt to stand in formation against the oncoming wash of death but the crowd had the opposite idea, causing many to trip and fall – soldiers and citizens alike. Gald managed to run freely down the once blocked slope towards the docked boats. The sea-gate was open and he saw a few of the merchant ships were already setting sail, though he set his eyes on Lord Raymond's galleon which was still docked. I helped build it, I know that ship.
He saw others veering off towards the trading cogs still docked, but he knew that they would take time to leave. Just as Gald had hoped, the galleon was being prepared and was almost ready to leave. He approached the guards and found a cold shiver rush down his spine. He stood in front of them, their blades already drawn, silently staring at the crest on the tabard of the guard straight ahead of him. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
The guard captain ahead was first to speak, “Toss him aside before he draws them down here. I want archers prepared to fire at the sight of-”
“Repairs.” Gald blurted out, “The Lord's galleon may sink without me. I need to make sure the hull remains intact – my supplies are on board waiting for me.”
The captain simply let him pass, waving him with a hand as he continued to deliver orders to his men. Gald walked with suspicion; he could never boast about an ability to lie nor think on the spot. His feet scaled the plank leading to the galleon and the vessel was being prepared to leave. He felt as if he were a hero in his own right, managing to survive such an atrocity. For the first time he felt like singing, I'll write a song 'The Sorrow of Frotvir'. He sat on the deck, staring at the town he left behind as the soldiers boarded and the ship moved beneath his feet. It seemed to drift slowly out of the bay and past the gates, all the while he watched the flames in the town rise and fall – the people running around, ants upon a concrete hill as the boat drifted into the night sea.
He viewed the open sea, watching the merchant cogs sail into the distance in various directions. Some went south heading towards the prosperous kingdom of Marona, others towards the western continent. None but the galleon steered north toward the largest port in the kingdom of Invar, Longwood. Gald felt tears welling up in his eyes, he clutched his knees against his chest as he sat down and began to rock himself in motion with the ship.
“A cruel irony that you would board this ship, my friend.”
Gald looked up. He knew who was standing over him, he recognised the accent. He wiped his eyes and sniffed, as a child would when being comforted after wailing.
“Your guilt will soon be a thing of the past. You need not worry, Gald Builder.” Dordio smiled in a manner that reminded him of his brother. It made Gald angry, but he had no reason to be. I've won, I'm alive, I survived. “I have nothing to be guilty for” He struggled with the next words, “my brother would have died before I had gotten to him.”
“I do not refer to your brother, Gald Builder. I refer to your intoxicated gossiping. Now, please, it is better if we are silent for the next part of this journey. Screaming would not be of use. Acceptance would be preferable, no?”
Gald did as he bid but not because he was asked but, instead he was coming to terms with what the stranger had said. He sat in silence, contemplating if he was responsible when he saw the crew all peering off the starboard bow opposite him. Soon, the entire crew was gathered and Lord Raymond Talby – along with guard escorts – came from the captain's quarters, curious of what had caused his ship to slow.
“Why are you all standing there? We need to make haste for Longwood. Get back to your posts or I'll have each of you gelded upon arrival.” None of them responded to their lord and commander, “Are you all deaf or have I-”
Few things would ever dare interrupt a lord, especially one full of wrath and fury. A king would dare to, though there were no kings present. Nor were there bold men to be noosed for such incompetence. Gald stood, curious to see what had cut Raymond short. The crew were backing away into the centre of the boat. A scaled blackened claw, half the size of the ship, rose over the side and dug its great-sword sized nails into the ship's wood the same way Gald had clutched his fishing rod two days past. Dordio's hand clutched his shoulder and yanked him toward the crew. He turned to watch a similar claw rise and clutch the port side, one of the nails clawed at the position he was stood in moments ago. At the stem of the boat, something much larger rose – eyes of black, hundreds of them. They were almost invisible against the similarly coloured scales, but they could be deciphered by the way in which they glinted off the moonlight above.
“By the shard, what is that thing?” Gald's teeth were chattering, his words were as unintelligible as when he had been previously drunk. The stranger understood him, as he did then, and he spoke with certainty. No, he speaks with awe.
“That, Gald Builder, is a demon.”