I've been accumulating ideas for fantasy stories in my mind for awhile since
The Runaways and
Edward were published. Lately, my writing's been focused around spirituality-related topics, but I'm taking a turn to start writing more fiction again. Among the ideas for these fantasy stories was "The Fallen Kingdom," which featured a prince named Gareth, who's kingdom of Herros was betrayed by their war ally Torros, forcing him off the throne and on the run with a small group of soldiers set on taking the kingdom back.
I'm really excited about this one, so I felt like doing you all a favor and giving out a sample of the first two chapters, which are both prologues taking place about seven months before the rest of the story.
This sample has NOT been edited yet, so their may be some errors in grammar, plot, or spelling. Nevertheless, this IS still copyrighted work and all rights are reserved.
The Fallen Kingdom
Brandon Grant
Copyright Brandon Grant 2013. All Rights Reserved. No part of this written work may be copied or reproduced by any other means without prior written consent of the author with the exception of quotations no longer than four (4) paragraphs.
Prologue I
Another Day
The sound of a knock echoed around the gigantic room I called my quarters. Looking for an excuse to break away from the letter I was writing to a foreign general, I actually walked to the door instead of having a guard open it.
"Lord Gareth," the man outside addressed me, bowing his head respectfully to his Prince. "Sir Kiltmann is ill today and he wanted to know if you could handle squire training for him today."
"Does he?" I said, with surprise in my tone. "About time he starts trusting me with something."
"I take that as you'll do it?" The messenger asked.
"Well, I've nothing better to do."
Now let me tell you, being royalty is a lot harder than you give us credit for; at least in a time of war, that is. Two months ago, a nation called Torros next door to us saw the end to a bloody civil war. Northern Torros decided that the opposition was too strong to let southern Torros keep killing their men, so they wrote a treaty allowing southern Torros to succeed. After that, Southern Torros built a wall across it's northern border and renamed itself Kyros. Kyros, with a rush of blood-lust left over from their civil war, attacked my nation, Herros, seeking to steal money, land and power from our prosperous country,
What was left of Torros settled our differences and formed an alliance with my dad, Gareth II, knowing that they could not have their nation back together without his assistance.
Long story short, Dad often ran back and forth between the castle and other countries to lead the war effort meanwhile I was stuck at home running odd jobs around the castle. He was always telling me how I was too young, despite the fact that I reached the level of skill required to be knighted at a younger age than anyone in Herros ever had.
I left my half written letter and quill pen on the desk in my quarters and walked through the corridor and down the stairs three floors on my way to the small courtyard in the northwest corner of the castle, where the squires were usually trained. I could have swore somewhere along the way, I saw Sir Kiltmann, who usually trained the squires, but when I turned back around to get a closer look at him or whoever it was that I saw, they had turned around and were walking quickly down the hallway with a group of men around him.
In a pond on the grounds, I checked my appearance via my reflection. It was still relatively early in the morning so I hadn't gotten the chance to comb my long, bushy brown hair, which resembled my dad's closely. People constantly told me I looked like a miniature version of him, with the exception my eyes, which they told me were like my mother's blue ones. My mom died giving birth to my younger sister, Eva, who they say has more of mom's elvish appearance.
When I made it to the northwest courtyard, I spent several minutes trying to calm down a group of twelve squires between ages eight and twelve. The younger ones were wrestling and beating each other around with sticks. The older ones stood on the other side of the courtyard flirting with my sister and her friend Sarah.
"Alright, knock it off," I split up the wrestling young ones.
I crept up behind the older squires.
"Well knights and squires are pretty dedicated people," A sandy-haired squire of elvish descent said to my sister. "If you go out with me, there's a lot of things I'd do for you..."
I grabbed him by the neck of his tunic, "You say another word and there's a lot of thing's I'll do to you."
A look of terror stretched across his face as he stared into my angry face. I started cracking up.
"I'm kidding, but really, we need to get started."
When the group was all back together, I drew my sword confidently, ready to begin the training session.
"Alright, let's get this party started."
Prologue II
Meanwhile Upstairs
Sir Eugene Kiltmann, in a condition of perfect health, strutted confidently down the upstairs corridors of. A group of seven men, all heavily armed with crossbows, swords, spears and bows stood around him, all wearing the hard, determined grimace that stretched across his own face. Among the seven men were Sir Darius, his assistant in the leadership of the castle guard, Sir Nehroe, one of the castle's blacksmiths, and Sir Korrith, who delivered the false message of his master's health to Prince Gareth that morning.
"Nehroe, you have made sure the king's weapons are in the shop, correct?" Kiltmann said in a serious tone.
"Yes, sire." Nehroe responded.
"He's under the impression that he's about to go on another mission," said Sir Darius. "He'll either be in the throne room, or just leaving to his quarters to start packing. I've arranged shifts so the soldiers in both rooms are all insiders. In other words, no matter where we find him, Gareth II will be dead in the next ten minutes. The time between his passing and the arrival of the Torroan army will be only moments"
Kiltmann hissed his response: "This country's killed my family, now it's time I kill it's."
***
The seven Torroans kicked open the door and a shocked King Gareth turned around and gave them a look of disbelief.
"What is the meaning of this that you knock down my door? Is there any news you can bring that is that urgent?"
"Let's see," said Kiltmann in a deadly whisper. A hateful glimmer shone in his eyes, one that his king had never seen.
"Good question! What news could it be? Maybe the betrayal of Torros, your allies; maybe the fact that your kingdom will fall in a matter of hours; maybe the use of the will of a traitor nation to allow me to get revenge for a childhood of misery." Kiltmann cut off for a moment of tense silence. "Maybe the fact that you haven't got a friend in this room."
King Gareth's guards recognized their signal and swooped into their rehearsed positions; men in each corner of the room formed a 'U' formation with Kiltmann's team, which faced the throne. The other two, standing directly on each side of the throne, crossed their swords over Gareth's chest and pinned him to the chair.
"PLEASE!!" The king begged. "Let me live, I'll do whatever you want! I have a nation to look after! I have kids to take care of!"
Kiltmann pulled from his belt the long, silver throwing knife that would fly, in just moments, through his king's chest and pin his limp body to the throne.
"My parents did too."