The Fall of Yaltzar

Zella

Zella

New member
This is a story related to the one I am writing with my best friend that the name Zella came from. It's part of the history of one of the countries in that book. It is a story in itself and even has a sort of happy ending, but the whole situation won't be resolved by the end of it. If that doesn't make sense now, it will if you read through to the end.:p
If you have any suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them.

Ancor watched as the craftsmen placed the finishing touches on what was to be his tomb. Looking around, he admired the work that had been done. The walls were covered with carvings, in the middle of the room stood a bier ready to receive a coffin, and the seam in the left wall was invisible. The stone workers had done a good job.

Behind Ancor someone came down the steps. The jeweler appeared beside him. “I have the key, Your Highness.”

Ancor took the offered key and examined it. It hung on a golden chain and was shaped like the runes of an a and a y – a for Ancor and y for Yaltzar, the name of the country he ruled. The top was silver and the bottom gold. Ancor slid the pieces apart then snapped them back together. “Brilliant work,” he told the jeweler, “well done.” The jeweler bowed and left the room. One by one the craftsmen also left and soon Ancor was left alone. He thought back over the last 40 years. At that time Yaltzar had been only a group of petty kingdom-states, constantly quarreling. He had been the prince of one of them. But then from across the ocean had come an attack, a threat to all of them.

The common enemy had made them willing to work together and Ancor, though young, was a natural leader and quickly became the one the others looked to to make decisions. When the enemy had been defeated it was decided that they would all be safer if they were united and Ancor was chosen to be king. They had named the country Yaltzar, the name of one of the princes of the kingdom-states who had been killed in the war.

Since then Yaltzar had become a strong nation. Ancor had worked tirelessly to keep peace between the vastly different people of his realm and his efforts had paid off.

Turning, Ancor left the tomb, pausing to lock the door before slowly climbing the steps. Age was beginning to tell on him. His once dark hair now had brown streaks amid the gray instead of the other way around. Once his movements had been brisk and efficient and he had been able to work hard for long days; now moving was slow and sometimes painful and he tired easily. But he still carried himself with the bearing of a king and his mind was clear.

Ancor knew he did not have long to live but he could not say he was sorry. His life had been long and fruitful; he had no regrets. He knew that his son Talsar was able and ready to be king. Life was beginning to be a burden, for his dear wife had been dead for several years now and it was difficult not being able to make his body behave as he wished it to.

At the top of the steps he closed the stone door and allowed the heavy tapestry to fall over it, simply but effectively concealing the entrance. The entrance to the tomb was in a little used area of the castle and even if it was found by someone who should not know, there was still the lock, the only key to which the king would have.

Ancor slipped the chain around his neck and walked slowly away. The kingdom’s treasure was hidden; even his son did not know how to find it, though he knew the clues. It was as secure against falling into evil hands as he knew how to make it. He could rest peacefully now.
 
Last edited:
Interesting beginning...the title sounds pretty ominous, but I enjoyed your introduction. Keep it up!
 
Scarcely a month later Talsar stood in the door of his father’s tomb, gazing for one last time at the coffin. In his left hand he held a torch, his right clutched the key, silver and gold and divisible in case of an emergency. Though he had wept earlier in the day his eyes were dry now. He backed out of the room, shut the door and locked it softly. With his right hand he traced the inscription Ancor had ordered carved on the door:

Here lies His Royal Highness
Ancor the Evenhanded
Ruled by none, Loved by many
May his sleep be sweet​

Taking a deep breath, Talsar straightened his shoulders and looped the chain that held the key around his neck. He gazed at the words for a moment with unease and resolution struggling for mastery within his breast, looking, had he known it, remarkably like his father had looked when asked to be king of the newly established nation. As it had in Ancor, resolution won and Talsar turned and ascended the steps without looking back. He did not need to dwell in the past; he had a country to rule.

And since that was short, here are:
1. A sketch of the key (it would divide between the two horizontal lines? bars? whatever you call them:p).
2. What the inscription would look like in the runes (except with straighter lines).
3. A rough map of the main features of Yaltzar.
 

Attachments

  • Key.jpg
    Key.jpg
    2 KB · Views: 89
  • Inscription.jpg
    Inscription.jpg
    11.5 KB · Views: 90
  • Map.jpg
    Map.jpg
    19.7 KB · Views: 89
Last edited:
Yeah, I guess it IS better than "Ancor's Away."

But seriously, folks, I'm glad that the departed king is shown to have been such a good guy. Time was when almost every father depicted in stories written here was a louse, a jerk and a clod. This, of course, contributed to the massive tendency for thirteen-year-old princesses to be riding off on their horses on solitary quests which no one else understood.
 
About 200 Years Later
​

Out of the corner of his eye Laram saw a servant waiting, apparently wanting to speak with him. As soon as he finished his morning exercises Laram walked over to him, sheathing his sword and wiping sweat from his brow. “Yes?” he asked.

The servant bowed. “Your father wishes to speak with you.”

Laram nodded. “Tell him I will be there in a few minutes.” Bowing once again, the servant left to deliver the message.

After he cleaned up, Laram strode to his father’s room and rapped on the wooden door. “Come in,” a weak voice quavered. Laram entered and closed the door behind him. The room was dark and too warm and smelled of the overly sweet herbs used to cover the scent of illness and death. He stood beside the bed and looked down at the small, fragile body that had once been his father. He could not believe that this was the man who had taught him how to wield a sword, talk to a lady, and rule a kingdom. And yet there was still the echo of the king Razix used to be in the firm set of the chin, the ice in the faded brown eyes, the authority remaining in the now-weak voice. “Sit down.” Laram pulled up a chair.

There was silence for a few minutes and then Razix began to speak, slowly and with difficulty. He told Laram of how Ancor had become king of Yaltzar and how he had hidden the kingdom’s treasure in his tomb. Laram listened, confusion written on his face. He knew the tale well enough to recite it in his sleep, so why was Razix telling it now when every word was obviously a struggle? Finally Razix came to the end and paused, his slim frame racked by a fit of dry coughing. Laram sat uneasily, not sure what to do. When the coughing eased Razix gestured to a glass of water on a table near his bed. Glad to have something to do, Laram lifted his father slightly and held the glass to his lips.

When he had regained his breath Razix asked in a near whisper, “You know the story?”

“Yes,” said Laram.

“I want you to write it down. I know you are a warrior, not a scholar,” he added, forestalling Laram’s question, “but I think it is important. If someone does not record the facts they will soon be forgotten, or twisted by someone evil for their own purposes.”

Laram hesitated, but he knew he could not deny his father’s request. “All right, I will,” he said.

Razix seemed to relax. “Thank you. Here.” He reached over to the table where the glass was, picked something up, and held it out. Laram cupped his hand and Razix placed the object in it. Laram looked at it in surprise. It was the chain and the key he had seen his father wearing, but the bottom half of the key was missing.

“Where is the other part?” he asked.

"Your brother has it.”

“Nayr? You gave it to him?”

“No. He stole it.”

“What?” His brother? Surely he couldn’t have! “How do you know?”

“I discovered it was missing this morning and talked to him. He admitted to taking it but refused to return it.”

Laram’s brain was whirling. It was impossible. Nayr wouldn’t steal at all, and certainly not a thing of such importance. Yet his father wouldn’t lie…would he? But no, there was no lie in his eyes and as difficult as it was to believe his brother was guilty of deceit it was easier than believing the same of his father.

Razix closed Laram’s hand around the half-key. “I know this is difficult for you,” he whispered. “It is for me also. But you must guard the key with you life. I do not trust Nayr anymore. However, I do trust you. Do not let me down.”

“Why didn’t he take the whole thing?” Laram couldn’t get his mind past that question.

“I sleep with the chain around my neck; apparently he was afraid of waking me. Laram, listen to me.” Razix’s feeble grip tightened slightly. “I need you to promise me you won’t let Nayr get the rest of the key. Or the clues.”

“The clues?”

“Yes, the clues to find the treasure. I had them written down on two pieces of paper and hidden. Nayr found one. The other is attached to the back of the top drawer in the wardrobe. Unfortunately I don’t remember them anymore so you will only have the first half. You must promise you will keep the knowledge and the key safe. Promise me, Laram!”

“I promise,” Laram said. Although still couldn’t grasp the fact that his brother had stolen from their father, he knew that what Razix was asking him was important. “I will keep them safe.”

“Good.” Razix fell back on his pillows, exhausted. “Get the paper.” Laram did and Razix glanced at it. “That is it. Keep it safe, Laram Celan.”

“Celan?”

“Yes. It is an old word that means ‘keeper’. I give it to you as a surname. Bear it well, my son.”

Laram clasped his father’s hand. “I will, Father. Thank you.”

Closing his eyes, Razix nodded wearily and fell asleep. Laram left the room.
 
Laram worked for hours that day writing down the story he had known from his childhood. When he finished that he told of his brother’s treachery and the clues he had. Finally running out of things to say, he sat back and looked out the window. To his shock the sun was already more than halfway to the horizon. With that sight, came the realization that he was starving but before he did anything else Laram read through what he had written, massaging his cramped fingers.

He frowned; it wasn’t very well done. His father was right: he was a warrior, not a scholar. But it would have to do. He hid the book and went to get something to eat.

Out in the hall Laram met his brother. Nayr smiled as if everything was normal. “I was coming to look for you. You haven’t been around all day. Is something wrong?”

Laram examined Nayr as if they had never met before. They were twins, though no one would guess it by looking at it. Nayr, the younger by an hour, had the typical coloring of a Yaltzarian: swarthy complexion, dark hair, and dark eyes. Although Laram could not be called fair, his light gray eyes, light brown hair, and skin that was more tan than dark made him stand out in a crowd. Nayr had already been the more popular one, having that elusive, un-teachable ability to inspire devotion even in people he didn’t know well. Even knowing what he did, Laram found it difficult, now that they were together, to be too angry. He shook his head. He had a right to be angry!

“You know what’s wrong,” he said in a strained voice. “Why did you steal? And from Father!”

Nayr spread his hands, looking as if he was the one being wronged. “We’re twins, Laram. Don’t you think I deserve to share the knowledge? But I knew Father wouldn’t see it that way.”

“For good reason! It’s not meant to be shared anymore than the kingship is!” Laram shook his head sadly. “I guess I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.”

“Of course you do,” said Nayr soothingly. “Why don’t you forget about it for now? We can talk more when you’re calmer.” Nayr walked away.

Glaring after him and clenching his fists, Laram muttered, “I don’t need to be calmer. I know exactly what I’m saying and whether you believe it or not, you’re wrong and I’m right.”
 
Back
Top