The Broken Sword - Prologue

Prologue

She seldom slept anymore, such was her power that she needed little of it. She walked through the chambers of the once mighty castle, her flawless ebony skin a sharp contrast to the gleaming white marble of the passages. It rang hollow and empty, the memory of the laughter and the language of her kind long since having faded. In its place was the rustling noise of the movement of her servants, the harshness of their guttural language, and the smell of their fur. She longed for the old days at times like this, yet the longing always reminded her of what he had taken from her. It reminded her of the unending prison she endured.

And so her anger made her stride quicken. Her white silken skirts, no more then a long loin cloth really, trailed behind her as she made her way through the hall and came out into the courtyard in front of the castle. The magic of the place remained, keeping it well maintained and free of the ravages of time. The mighty gates loomed ahead of her, though they stood open as they often did in times of peace. Without lay the mightiest city Viconia had ever seen, home to the might of the most powerful race of beings Viconia had ever known.

She cursed and moved forward, walking purposefully to the gates. The might and glory had been for nothing. In their foolishness her husband and his brother had turned from the path of power and victory and fought against those who knew that the rightful legacy of the elves was to rule all of Viconia. The ensuing civil war had broken both peoples, though in the end the dragons had come to the aid of her side and forced her foolish husband's brother into retreat. Her husband himself had been slain in battle, killed by none other then her lover.

Of her there had been no word. She had been imprisoned for hundreds of years behind the spells of the strongest of elven archmages. But they underestimated her power as well, for she had studied long and hard and found the weakness in their spells. She cancelled their wards at last, only to find herself still trapped.

Kalista stopped and looked upwards from the great plaza she stood in. Looming over her, indeed over all of Thoragloorin, was an impenetrable shield of mystical blue energy. Nothing could penetrate it, not beast nor magic. And the key to the shield lay before her. She gazed hatefully at the fountain rising from the middle of the plaza. It towered over her, forty-five feet tall at the tip of the golden dragon statuette at it's center. Surrounding the gold statue were four others, each only thirty feet tall themselves and each of a separate metallic nature. One was copper, another bronze, a third brass, and the fourth was silver. Water flowed from the mouths of all of them save the gold into the pool beneath, and from their it flowed to a stream that turned into a mighty waterfall hundreds of feet high at the edge of the plaza that drained into the idyllic lake below.

On the head of the gold dragon her gaze remained fixed. A beautiful crown fashioned of an alloy of the same metals the five colossal dragon statues were made of. It sported five gleaming gemstones as well of a size so large as to make them pricelessly unique. A ruby, an emerald, a sapphire, a diamond, and a black pearl. The crown was that magic that maintained the seal separating Thoragloorin from Viconia, and the crown itself was protected by great magics she could not penetrate. Indeed, she could come no closer than fifteen feet to the tower herself, and her servants were halted from within five feet of it.

She cursed and stared over the city that was her domain. It remained timeless and forever frozen in beauty, yet it was also lifeless. Other beings remained, even a few that had wandered in from the outside over the years, but escape was impossible. Of those who remained they stayed to themselves and sought no quarrel with her. She was the undisputed Queen of Thoragloorin, something undisputed thanks to both her magic and her powerful army.

Back when the elves had ruled Viconia and been contested only by orcs, giants, ogres, and some dragons they had a race of servants known as doguren. The doguren were short, standing little over three feet tall, and looked a cross between a dog and a elf. Covered in fur and with long snouts, they possessed the arms and legs of a humanoid and a simple intelligence. When Myragordamar's brother, King Thindamar Risingmoon renounced the proper path of the elves he had likewise ordered all doguren set free to do as they would. Many remained behind, however, content in their servitude, only more so now that they would be treated more kindly.

The doguren that had served Kalista remained with her as well, though she had magically bound them to her. They bred and reproduced, encouraged by her magic over the thousands of generations into larger and more capable creatures. Now they stood nearly seven feet tall and possessed powerful muscles and thick hides. Most importantly they numbered in the thousands and each one would die for her gladly. She was their Goddess.

But that cheered her little. They all were prisoners. When the elves had been banished they had put up such wards as were present to forever separate Thoragloorin from the world. Kalista was forgotten in the process, sealed away like so many of the ancient elven riches she now possessed that were worthless to her. Thousands of years had passed and she waited, brooding and increasing her magic. The blessing of immortality was also a curse, she had realized long ago.

Continued in Chapter 1