Metal thrashed and slammed against metal. With every strike at King Horius’ blade, Dorin tightened his clenched fists against vibrations that shot through his sword.
“Horius finish him!”
“Kill him! Kill him!”
The heckling and cheering from the horde of spectators that surrounded them threatened to drown out their shouts, grunts and roars.
Dorin’s sweat-soaked hair fell in his eyes and whipped his skin. His ripped trousers rubbed sore the bloodied cuts on his legs but the sight of Horius’ spilled blood and trousers just as torn made their agreement not to wear armour very satisfying.
Dorin swung his blade aiming for Horius’ chest. With a deafening clang, Horius blocked Dorin’s blade with his own, their swords scraping as they crossed. Dorin dug his boots into the loose earth. Growling behind gritted teeth, his face inches from Horius’ snarling face, he pushed with all his might, forcing Horius to step back.
Horius struck Dorin’s blade three times and then with a deafening roar he drew his sword back and smashed Dorin’s sword again. The force of the blow caught Dorin off-guard, his sword flew out of his hands and landed with a thump on the ground several feet away.
Horius kicked his leg from under him. He crashed to the ground, landing flat on his back, pain shooting through his body. Horius stood by his side and flipped his sword. He clasped the handle between both hands, the tip pointing straight at Dorin’s chest.
As Horius dropped to his knees and raised his arms as high as they would go, Dorin kept low and pulled on every stomach muscle. He brought his right knee toward him just enough so that he could reach into his boot. His fingers found the end of the handle of his dagger. He pulled it free and grabbed it with his fist, the blade pointing down.
Just before Horius could strike, Dorin thrust the blade into Horius’ naked chest, straight into his heart. The shock forced Horius’ eyes and mouth wide open as gasps and cries echoed through the crowd.
Dorin felt every muscle in his stomach strain once again as he got up. He rolled onto his left hand and pushed himself up, his arm almost collapsing under his weight. His feet found the ground beneath him, his fatigue forcing him to stagger as he regained his balance.
He breathed heavily as he stood and watched his brother fall. Horius’ hip, shoulder and finally his head thudded on the ground. He rolled onto his back, his sweat-covered arm coated with dirt and blood oozing from his wound. Dorin walked around him like a vulture, waiting for his prey to die.
Dorin reached Horius’ side, kicked his sword out of his hand and sent it sliding across the ground.
“I should have been king not you!” Dorin yelled. “I had to watch as you were crowned. I said nothing for five long years, but no more. Justice has finally been done!” He spat the words like venom that had been infecting the back of his throat.
“But brother.” Horius forced from his mouth as he gasped his last few breaths, his chest moving up and down.
“No, Horius!” The cry came from the crowd. As Dorin looked over, he saw Horius’ wife on her knees, crying. Their young son stared blankly at his father, his hand resting on his mother for comfort. Dorin also saw a friend of Horius’ walking out of the crowd toward them.
“Do not move! This is not your battle!” He shouted as he pointed at Horius’ friend.
Dorin looked back at Horius and smiled. Kneeling at his side, he wrapped his hand firmly around the handle of the dagger. He clenched his teeth and looking at Horius’ face quickly twisted the knife.
Horius’ body jerked as he cried out in agony and his eyes slammed shut. He gasped for air as his chest moved slower and slower. Saying no more, he opened his eyes and turned his head toward the crowd. He took his last breath and his chest stopped moving.
The king was dead.
Dorin let go of the knife and rose to his feet. He took several deep breaths as he felt all the anger and hatred rising through his body. He clenched his fists and lifted his head.
“Raaarrrgghh! I am king!” He roared into the air.
He took another deep breath and his knees thumped on the ground again. He wrapped his hand around the handle of his knife. As he pressed down on Horius chest with his other hand, he enjoyed the feeling of Horius’ blood oozing under his palm. He sharply pulled his dagger from Horius’ chest, turned his other hand over and looked at it, covered in blood. He looked at the lifeless body, back at his hand and then clenched his fist, to destroy his brother’s blood as he had just destroyed his life.
He wiped his hand and then both sides of the blade on Horius’ trousers, watching as red soaked into brown and then replaced the knife in his boot. He then turned his attention to the crown.
Reaching over, his fingernails scratched Horius’ forehead as he took hold of the crown and lifted it from his head. He wrapped his whole hand around it and enjoyed the feeling of it finally being in his possession. He stood and or in his deep, guttural voice addressed the crowd.
“The battle is mine, the crown is mine and from now onward this kingdom will be known as Dorinia. Any person found to be uttering the word Crysaldor will pay the price.”
He walked to his sword and felt his back strain as he bent down. He picked the heavy blade up and then, as he was walking away, took one last look at Horius without the crown. As he left the battle with the crown in his left hand and his sword in the other, he cared nothing as he heard the spectators weeping and shouting and the thudding as they all ran to Horius.
For half an hour, he trudged on foot as fast as his weary body would allow him. Traversing sharp, ragged rocks, shallow streams and endless fields, he finally arrived at what he thought was the highest peak in the kingdom: a mountain that reached so high it appeared to scrape the sky. At the very top, a long, thin ledge pointed like a great, thin finger to the west.
As he started to climb, his whole body ached as he trampled grass and jutting rocks. His knees felt as though they might break as he pushed on every muscle in his legs. He gritted his teeth every time his trousers rubbed up and down his torn skin. His heart raced and thudded in his ears as his lungs fought for air. He started to regret his decision to climb this mountain but then remembered what he was about to do and felt adrenaline surging through his veins once again.
After several hours of climbing with only a few stops, he eventually reached the summit. As he stopped to rest, the pain in his legs eased. He raised his head, opened his mouth wide and drank in the air, if only it was water, if only it was raining!
As his lungs filled a few more times, he looked over at the end of the ledge, just a few more steps. The ledge was long and narrow, barely a foot wide, but, like the mountain, made of solid rock. He took a few steps and to his relief it stayed solid and did not bounce like a plank over the side of a ship. His eyes remained fixed on the ledge so as not to lose his footing but either side he could see the green blur of the landscape laid out beneath him, several thousand feet below.
He reached the end and surveyed the view. This was perfect, most of the kingdom beneath his feet. In front, he could just make out the white rushing waters of a waterfall. All around, a mass of green leaves from hundreds of trees and vast green, red and yellow fields covered the ground. Rivers weaved in between great mountains and in the distance, the great, black, spiked mountain that was his fortress. To the left, several miles from it, lay the heart of the kingdom and the cause of his misery, Horius’ castle.
As he lifted the crown closer in his clenched fist, he could feel the smooth edge digging into his flesh. The rage burned inside him like a wild fire as he stared at one of the diamonds and thought of how his father had betrayed him. He should have been king, being the eldest, but their father had declared that Horius would rule Crysaldor and not him.
If he could not wear the crown, then he would make sure that nobody else could either!
Dropping to one knee, he placed his sword on the ground. He retrieved his knife from his boot, held it up and smiled as he noticed the dried bloodstains still on it from stabbing Horius. Turning it back and forth, he let the blade catch the sunlight and shine in his eyes. Then, because everyone knew that the magic in the kingdom only worked when the crown was complete with all eight diamonds, he forced the tip between one of the small, dome-shaped gems and the crown. As it came loose, he held the knife in his hand and took hold of the diamond between his fingers.
The only place he could put the dislodged diamond was on the ledge, as he had no pockets and held the crown in his other hand. He was tempted to just drop the diamonds where he stood but didn’t want them to bounce off the ledge, out of his control.
He put the first one down in front of him and dislodged the others, placing them all on the ledge. When he had finished, he slipped the knife back in his boot and with a clank, put the crown on the ledge. He picked up the diamonds one by one and placed them in the palm of his right hand.
Rising to his feet, he looked at them sitting there, oblivious to what was about to happen. Knowing it was the last time he or anyone would ever see them he smiled again. As he closed his hand over them, he could feel them digging into the flesh of his fingers. For a second he let himself enjoy the pain, the same pain that was about to disappear.
He pulled his right arm back as far as it would go with his elbow bent and stepped back with his right foot to steady himself. His whole body twisted and his left arm curved in front for balance. Pausing for a moment, he let all the hatred and anger swell to its peak as every muscle tensed. Then, with all the force he could muster, he threw his right hand forward and let them go.
The feeling of the diamonds leaving his hand and the sight of them flying through the air like rocks leaving a trebuchet, glittering as they caught the sunlight, gave him more pleasure than he could ever have imagined. Smaller and smaller they got, until finally he couldn’t see them anymore. He lifted his head into the air and stretched his arms as wide as they would go. A cool breeze blew at his face and chest as a great feeling of satisfaction hit him like a tidal wave, washed over him and coursed through his veins.
“I am king! Dorinia is mine!” He yelled from the ledge. The fact that only he could hear his words did not matter, the fact that they were the truth, did.
For several minutes, he remained on the ledge, thinking about what he had just done. Horius was dead, the crown was in pieces and Crysaldor was now Dorinia everything had worked out exactly as he had wanted.
The magic that, to him, had hung in the air like a vile smell would slowly begin to die. He had the control and the power over all Dorinia, finally and would rule for many years to come.
The months following the battle saw Dorin’s predictions coming true. The magic and even the sunlight slowly started to fade as a dark age consumed the kingdom. Wizards and witches discovered they could do nothing as they started to lose their magical powers and some, afraid of what might happen, went into hiding or disguised their true identities. Unicorns and dragons who once roamed freely just seemed to vanish.
As time passed by the people started to forget and slipped into a way of life they had come to accept until Crysaldor became a legend that only a few remember.
For three hundred years, the kingdom waited patiently. It knew that the magic would never be completely gone, the darkness would not last forever and that one day, the time would come.