Daylight streamed through the thick, viridescent canopies of the forest, lazily drifting to the ground in a sort of magical haze. A curious squirrel scampered out onto an outstretched branch, clutching an acorn protectively to its furry chest and watching with a bewildered amazement at the muttering creature rustling below its roost.
Zelgadis was not happy.
In fact, stating that he was "not happy" was like saying "oh look at that monster tear my eyes out."
To say that he-was-so-frickin'-PO'ed-that-anything-that-would- dare -look-at-him-sideways-would-be-subject-to-cruel-and-unusual-punishment would more or less hit the mark.
Normally, Zelgadis was calm and levelheaded, able to rationalize his way out of any situation. Cool. Collective. Able to take anything with a straight head and steady gaze.
But why don't you get stuck in some wacked-out forest for a day, staring at the same boringly monotone surroundings and pass by the same landmark for the fourteenth time. Sure, it was an interesting challenge, but it lost what little charm it had about five hours ago.
Now he was ready to kill.
Muttering every single oath and swear word he's ever learned in any language, Zelgadis disappeared into the thick brush to once again attempt to find his way out.
Shoved between two boxes in the cargo hold of the Maryanna , he smirked to himself on his success on sneaking aboard. Ship was the only way off the island kingdom of Khemali, but he wouldn't have been able to get access to one because of his criminal record. Khemalites hated thieves and thugs almost as much as they hated the servants of the dark goddess.
But he had made it. Setting that warehouse on fire was an excellent way to distract the port authorities, allowing him to rush across the mooring ropes with inhuman speed, into the cargo bay.
And now, smashed in the cramped space serves as his hiding niche, he would soon arrive at the Port of Stars, in Astras.
From there, only a short journey to the Gooru Nova.
The sun was heavy that autumn afternoon, beating down on the peasants slaving in the tall blades of brown wheat, overseers riding among them on high horses, never sparing the lash for any inactivity or social interaction.
Gourry straightened, leaning on his scythe and wiping the sweat from his dripping brow. "Yare yare..." he sighed.
His childhood friend, a wiry, dusky-haired boy that went by the diminutive "Cracker" shot a warning look at his blonde friend, not even pausing in his harvesting. "What are you doing, Gourry?" Cracker hissed, shooting a glance at an armored man riding a great stallion nearby. "If you're caught then you'll be whipped."
Gourry winced, remembering the last time he had felt the harsh sting of the whip. He really didn't mean to insult the foreman's wife when she came down to visit her husband that day. On the contrary, his comments about her ample bosom were intended to be quite complimentary. Gourry's father always said to be polite and flattering to the ladies; thus, seeing how the foreman's wife's most outstanding feature was her breasts, Gourry only wished to make a good impression. It wasn't his fault that--
"Gourry!" Cracker hissed again, jerking his head toward the man on the horse, turning toward them.
"Oh yeah!" Immediately, the tall peasant began to hack away at the grain.
The horseman passed by with only a disdainful glance, stopping to harass some other fieldhand up the way for not working hard enough.
"Damn Starknights," Cracker muttered, glaring at the horseman from the corner of his dark, rattish eyes. "Treating us as if we were serfs bound to the land while they sit on their fat arses, calling themselves the 'Chosen of the Goddess'."
Gourry paused. "But Cracker, I thought the Starknights were bad!"
"Ssshhhh!" Cracker looked around furtively to make sure no one knew they were conversing. "They *are*, Gourry," he whispered. "But the Order used to be good before they were corrupted by greed and power. See, the Starknights don't even have their Goddess-given power anymore because they've become so twisted. Now they're just Pretenders. There hasn't been a true Starknight in the land for over several centuries."
Gourry was silent for a while, his face set in studious concentration as the information slowly digested into his brain. "Um.... so the Starknights are bad?"
Cracker sighed, used to his friend's slow comprehension. "They're bad. Very bad."
Gourry smiled. "Wow, Cracker! How do you know that?"
The wiry boy returned the grin, ferociously slicing at the wheat. "I've been secretly seeing this priest of the Goddess. He's been educating me. You see, Gourry, I'm not gonna be a peasant forever. I'm gonna leave this forsaken country and buy myself a business over in Thydin or maybe Golathia."
"You'll visit me, right?" Gourry was happy that his friend would have such a wonderful opportunity for a better life. Cracker has always had it hard, being an orphaned child among many over at the local mill. The small boy had to struggle to survive, and his quick wit and tenacity had drawn the sweet, powerful Gourry to him, the two being fast friends and partners-in-crime.
"Hey, man, I'm gonna take you with me. We're best buds, right? You and me, we'll get a business and be real rich."
Gourry shook his head, rubbing salty sweat from his eyes. "I can't leave my family, Cracker."
"We'll get them later, once our business gets going. Your father is pretty well-respected by the Pretenders even though he's a peasant. Nothing will happen to them."
Like a sudden clock of doom, a commotion erupted at the other end of the wheat field, drawing the attention of all the workers.
A large cluster of Starknight overseers upon their shining horses were gathered around several of the workers, on of whom was quickly tackled by a knight and clasped in chains.
Cracker stopped his harvesting to stare. "Whoa, what's going on? It doesn't look like a normal whipping... Man, I wonder what the poor sucker did."
A peasant standing next to the two boys suddenly gasped as he conversed with a fellow next to him and then turned to Gourry, his face pale.
"You better leave, Gourry. Your father has just been arrested for stealing a valuable weapon from the Pretenders. And now they're looking for you."
"No sign of her?"
The captain of the Royal Guard of the Golden Tower in Luminaire, capital of Golathia, Kingdom of Gold, nodded.
"The Princess is nowhere to be found, Your Majesty," the captain replied in that stern military voice all soldiers seemed to be trained in.
His Venerable and extremely Imperial Majesty, the mighty Emperor of Golathia, Kingdom of Gold, Heaven among Heavens, turned to gaze out the window at the gleaming, brilliant city below him.
"No sign of kidnapping, no note?"
"Nothing, your Majesty. It's as if she has been spirited away by demons."
The emperor frowned, setting his palms upon the windowsill. "I do not believe in devils, Captain. Seal the borders and put every checkpoint and outpost on alert. Whoever took my daughter will not get far."
"Yes, your Majesty."
Huddling in the bushes outside his home, Gourry checked the surrounding area for any lurking Starknights before bolting inside the small cottage and slamming the door shut against the night outside.
Inside, the darkness coated everything with its thick silence.
Biting his lip, Gourry fumbled fro the flint and steel by the door, lighting the lantern that hung on the ceiling by the doorjamb.
The dim circle of light revealed chaos.
Chairs, pots, and books lay all on the floor, items torn and broken, scattered over the house that his mother meticulously cleaned everyday. Precious objects torn so violently from their proper place by uncaring hands, searching for some item that his father allegedly stole.
With a cry, Gourry rushed to the other rooms in the house, calling for his mother and sisters, praying that they were not taken away by the Pretenders as his father was.
Silence again coated the empty house as Gourry collapsed numbly against a wall, sliding to the floor, crushing strewn papers beneath him. He had fled like a coward from the Pretenders in the field that day, in hopes to save his mother and sisters before they too were arrested.
All for naught.
Wearily, Gourry stood, unsure of what to do now. The Pretenders would surely be back here, guessing that Gourry might indeed return home. Should he wait and give himself up, and suffer with the rest of his family like a man? Or should he run and hide, trying to find a way to prove his father was innocent, framed?
He was so confused.
His father would never steal anything. Gourry was so proud of his father, looked up to him in worship, tried to emulate his father's every action, every attitude. Gourry knew his father. Master Gabriev would never steal.
Much less some special Starknight weapon that he would never have a need----
Weapon!? Gourry jumped up, nearly tripping on his long legs as he struggled to untangle them. The wondrous sword, hidden away in the secret cellar beneath his feet..... was that what the Starknights were searching for?
He picked his way carefully to the lantern by the door and grabbed it, going back through the jungle to the room in the farthest back of the cottage.
The trapdoor to the cellar was buried under hordes of debris, carelessly overturned by the hurried Starknights. Gourry carefully shoved aside the junk and ran his fingers along the wooden floor, searching for the hidden catch that would free the door....
There. A slight audible click in the blanket of silence.
The door swung down into the darkness. A familiar, musty odor greeted him, as it did the night before when he was caught by his father while playing with the lovely blade. His heart clenched at the memory and brief images of what the Pretenders might be doing to his family flitted through his mind, nearly paralyzing him with anger.
The one time you don't need to think, you do! an inner voice shouted at him. Just get the sword and get out! You can be miserable later. Every second is precious, you moron!
Nodding to the unspoken voice of Good Sense, he carefully made his way down the rope ladder hanging freely from the portal, the faded glow of the his lantern guiding him.
The cellar was untouched.
Stopping before a familiar shelf, Gourry set down the lantern and grabbed the long cloth bundle, unwrapping a part to reveal the majestic hilt.
He did not know what he was going to do with this sword, but he will find a way to clear his family name.
Quickly retying the bonds, Gourry grabbed the lantern and headed for the stairs, the sword clutched tightly in his other fist.
Then his world exploded.
Zelgadis swore that if he ever saw that rock again, he would scream.
It was already night again and he was still stuck in this forest, traveling by magical light as he struggled to solve the puzzle of this not so ordinary set of woods that seemed to have warped his sense of direction.
Earlier that afternoon, Zelgadis was greeted by a change of scenery--much to his relief--having found a new landmark in the shape of a large grey rock uncannily resembling a rearing bear.
But now it seemed he was permanently stuck with seeing the rock about three times every hour.
It was frustrating. It was endless. It was pure torture. The urge to fireball the entire forest grew with each hour. But no, he wouldn't do that. He would maintain control. He would not let the forest get to him.
And there was the rock again, around the bend, greeting him like an old friend.
Fine, just this once.
Taking a deep, measured breath, Zelgadis screamed in utter frustration.
This was not his day.
She lifted her head at the howl. "Oh my, did you hear that? It sounded so close!"
The guard inside her tent nodded. "It's probably some wild animal. Don't let it bother you, milady."
A smile flitted across her pouty lips. "Yes, I have my big-bad bodyguards to protect me!" she teased in her velvety, sing-song voice.
The guard coughed, blushing in the dim light of the lanterns in the tent. "Um... cough yes... milady. cough "
She giggled. "Well, I certainly do sleep better knowing that you're here." A suggestive smile.
Another howl filled their ears.
She frowned in irritation. "Oh my. I do hope something will put that creature out of its misery or we'll never get any sleep tonight!"
He felt much better now.
Straightening his slightly off-white tunic and deep indigo overcoat, Zelgadis studied his surroundings with a much clearer head. Good thing no one else was around when he had screeched like a housewife. It would have been quite embarrassing if some of his competitors and enemies knew that the powerful Zelgadis the Grey had lost his cool for once.
Nothing much had changed after his outburst though. That damned rock was still there, a sign of mockery from Nature itself.
He sighed. Life never went right for him, ever since the Incident.
But this was no time to dwell on the horrible events of his past. He was near an object that would undo the tragic events of the Incident and no strange, twisted forest was going to stop him from reaching his goal.
The Dragon Prophecy, it was called by the natives that first informed him about it a year or more ago. Time seemed to have blurred since then... He could only remember the frantic search for clues to this hidden power that could change his entire life. Zelgadis hoped that this "mountain's treasure" Dryn spoke of was indeed the first relic needed to unlock the Dragon Prophecy and reverse the effects of the Incident.
Zelgadis sighed again, seating himself on the ursine stone, chin in hands.
There has to be a logical way out of this accursed woods.
Then: the sound of voices.