Dear readers,

Here's Part 1 of a short story I wrote from the perspective of Craothor, one of my main characters. I hope you enjoy it, and I'd love to hear your feedback about anything you would change/improve.

Thanks,

Rina :)

     The sound of a girl’s weeping echoed through the dark halls of Nordulon’s palace. Angry bells signaled the arrival of a new prisoner, their discordant music arousing swarms of palace guards. Amid the mass of ebony armor and wicked-looking maces, a lonely sixteen year boy named Craothor timidly clasped his sword and dreaded having to watch the torture of another innocent prisoner. The clanging of the bells soon escalated, and the demon Nordulon, clad in armor black as the shadows, slowly raised his hand for silence. After a pause, his thunderous voice boomed, “Today, we celebrate the downfall of the Mermaelin! With their king and queen dead and their only heir in my dungeons, I shall take over all of the undersea realm – and with it, all of the world!” The mass of soldiers around him immediately erupted in shouts of triumph, but Craothor felt torn. Part of him wanted to celebrate the army’s victory, but another part of him shuddered at the thought of Nordulon’s darkness covering the whole realm. Just then, the guard beside him gave him a heavy shove and grunted, “Hey, you! Why aren’t you celebrating?”
     “I guess I’ll be one of them forever,” Craothor thought as he forced a smile and made himself clap in honor of Nordulon’s victory. A few minutes later, the crowd began to break up, and Craothor hurried toward the dungeon where it was his turn to guard the prisoners. As he glanced at the prisoners’ miserable faces and pitiful expressions, Craothor felt a familiar hopelessness creep into him. “This is where I belong,” he thought to himself. Just then, the prison doors swung open and two towering guards dragged in the new prisoner, a teenage girl with tattered brown hair, fair skin, and sorrowful blue eyes the color of the ocean. After shoving her into a cell, the guards locked her door and stormed away to report back to Nordulon.
     A few hours later, Craothor paced back and forth as he studied the patterns on the floor and waited for the watch bell to ring. As the minutes began to drag on, he felt a strange longing to talk to the new prisoner. Though he did not know exactly why, there was something in her clear blue eyes, sad as they were, that gave him hope. Finally, he plucked up the courage to ask her, “What is your name, prisoner?” Startled by his blunt question, the girl looked up at him, and Craothor sensed a hint of bitterness in her mournful eyes.
     “Arelle,” she answered coldly.
     Disappointed, Craothor tried again. “What happened to your family?” However, the moment he saw the girl’s miserable expression, he knew the answer all too well. Quickly, he added, “My parents are dead, too.” “Oh.” He sensed the girl soften slightly. Craothor didn’t know what to say next, and for a few minutes the two stood there silently staring at each other. Finally, Arelle leaned in closer to the cell door and asked, “Then why do you serve Nordulon? Didn’t you love your family?”
     Stunned, Craothor replied, “I-I had no other choice.”
     “Did you ever try to escape?” Arelle whispered, even softer than before.
     “No... I guess I never thought I had a chance.”
     “But what if you did have a chance?”
     “I don’t know.” Then, very slowly, he added, “But if I could, I would try.” Just then, the ringing of the watch bell echoed through the dark hall, and Craothor knew he had to report back to Nordulon. “I will come back tomorrow,” he whispered to Arelle as he ran off into the darkness. However, as he neared the throne room, doubts crept into his mind. Gazing at the numerous guards and heavy iron gates, he wondered if he really could escape. Despair slowly crept into his mind.
     Just then, Craothor remembered a secret he had kept hidden for many years, a secret that frightened him so much he had tried to forget about it. But amid all his efforts, Crathor had never really forgotten. Deep down, he still remembered the hidden pa
ssageway.
Nearly ten years ago, when Craothor was only 9 years old, he was set guard over an old, wizened prisoner who had been kept in Nordulon’s dungeons for longer than anyone could remember. The old man’s name was Azarion, and Craothor had guarded him for several years. Late one night, as Craothor stood watch outside Azarion’s cell, the old man whispered to him, “Can I trust you, Craothor?”
     Not sure what to expect, Craothor answered, “Yes, sir.”
     “Good,” Azarion replied with a weak smile. “Now listen carefully. Beneath the floor of my cell, there is a small hole with a tiny lever inside. If you pull the level three times, a secret trap door will open, uncovering a hidden passageway that will lead you to freedom. If you are ever in need, open that door and you will find help.” Then, leaning in closer, Azarion had whispered, “Goodbye, Craothor. May my trust not be in vain.” After that, he had given a weak smile, sighed, and closed his eyes. Craothor never saw him again. For many years, Craothor had kept Azarion’s words a secret for fear of Nordulon. Deep down, he felt sure that Nordulon would discover him, even if he was safe inside a secret passageway. However, Arelle’s words had given Craothor new confidence, and he was now determined to try.
     The next day, Craothor eagerly waited until it was his turn to guard the prisoners of Nordulon’s dungeons. After the watch bell rang, he ran over to Arelle’s cell as fast as he could and quickly told her about Azarion’s secret. When he finished, the two of them worked out how they could get enough food for their journey (Craothor agreed to “plunder” the palace kitchen) and how Craothor could get into Arelle’s cell and the passageway without Nordulon noticing. Finally, they agreed that Craothor would return early the next morning with food and other provisions right as the watch was changing, and then the two of them would sneak into the passageway while everyone else was busy. The two were still working out the final details of their plan when the watch bell rang. Not wanting to leave Arelle, Craothor lingered for several more minutes. However, as he saw the guards on the next shift filing in, he realized that he had to report to Nordulon. Bidding Arelle goodbye, he ran off, his mind swirling with fear and excitement.