A Note Before You Read

What follows are the opening chapters of Traitor’s Eye, shared ahead of publication.

This is an early version of the story and will continue to evolve through editing, revision, and design. Some details may change, deepen, or disappear entirely before the final release.

For now, consider this an invitation — a first step into the world.

Chapter I – The Foreigner

Bevna fitted the metal breastplate around Kelorne’s chest, as he stood with his arms stretched out. 

“Tighten it more,” he said to his wife. Bevna pulled at the tweed binding the two plates together connecting them over his back and chest. 

“That’s enough,” Kelorne said. He moved his arms around, inward and out and nodded to himself, the armour firmly fixed to him while still having flexibility of movement.  

“Bring me my sword,” he said to Bevna.

She took Kelorne’s belt with his sheathed sword attached. She fitted the belt around his waist. He placed his hand on the hilt and felt the cold metal around his hand. He drew it from its sheath, stepping forward and swinging the sword around in the air, feigning a duel. 

“Victoria, the teeth of the fox,” he said with a smile. He looked over his shoulder, at the huge silver fox emblem emblazoned on dark green fabric, the banner of his faction. 

Born out of wedlock, he was held back from achieving his true potential in his old faction, and never got the credit he deserved though, and clashed repeatedly with his former leader.

“He called me a scheming fox, and he expelled me,” he said, reminiscing of his old faction leader as his gaze turned back and forth between his sword and his emblem. “He thought that would be the last of me. Little did he know I would be back to take his blade and use it against him. The fox’s teeth claimed his head.”

He held the blade out in front of him, admiring its curves and the brilliant smithmanship that had forged it.

“I’ve never lost a battle with this blade,” he boasted. 

As he stared at the blade, his mind was cast back to all the battles he had fought with it. After taking over his old faction, he forged the group’s new name: the Kelornites. They were a tenacious group worthy of his name. His strategy was to incorporate defeated factions into his own rather than make them submissive, one that gained great success. His banner came to be flown over all the west and beyond. 

As with any powerful warlord in Rumithia with momentum behind him, his ambitions turned to Rithagow tower. Kelorne’s smile widened as he remembered the words of caution from his own followers about taking Rithagow. They warned about doing too much too soon. He scoffed in derision at such warnings. He had proved time and time again he was up to the challenge.

He looked around in the room they were standing in. A hall of Rithagow tower with an overview of the courtyard. Few humans could say they had even stepped foot in Rithagow, let alone come to dominate it and call it their own abode. His chest swelled with pride. It was his. He was the steward of Rithagow, he was the lord of the white tower.

He sheathed his sword and Bevna approached him with his cloak. She fitted the long dark green cloak on his back, adding the final touch to his clothing. He looked down at himself. The armour and chainmail glinted in the morning sun, shimmering his metal accessories. He tightened his cuffs and ran his hands down his armour, to his thick belt where he carried his sword and knives. He was in his element. He was a warrior, a fighter, a leader. Ready to take to the field and command his troops.

Bevna pulled him forward and kissed passionately on the lips before parting slowly away. She looked admiringly at her husband, at the knight before her, with his long black hair and dark eyes that returned her loving stare. She took off her neckerchief. He watched as she delicately folded it around his cloak, her fingers working with love interlocking it, a piece of her to him, as she secured it.

“Another token that has brought you luck,” she said affectionately. “Do you remember the first time I put this on your armour? I did it just hoping that you would return to me alive. How quickly things changed.”

Kelorne let fly a grunt of laughter as they both reflected on how modest their ambitions had been when he had begun. She met his gaze and smiled a wry smile.

 “With every success our ambitions grew. I would bid you forth to win more lands, more territory, more dominions under your control.”

The smile faded from her face slightly. She stretched out her hand, but hesitated just for a moment as her pride mingled with fear and doubt. She rested it gently on his breast plate.

“Now, as in the last battle, I do it so you can keep what you have won.”

Kelorne noticed the subtle change in her tone. He turned away from her gaze and looked out of the window again, onto the courtyard. The final preparations were being made for war. His eyes gazed beyond the courtyard. From the tower he could see well out into the distance, to the open plains and fields that surrounded the tower. They were empty with only wildlife skirting around as nature did. Soon enough however, the plains would be full of enemy troops, and they would be in a siege. He straightened his body up and felt his shoulders clench and his hand naturally reach down to touch his sword. 

He had been in that situation before. He had fought and successfully defended the tower three times. His lip curled in spite at the thought of Yonmere, the faction leader to the east who had become his greatest rival after he took Rithagow. He remembered talk as his rise became unstoppable that he was the Yonmere of the west. He grunted with contempt. He should be compared to me as I am the greater of the two, he thought. Twice Yonmere led an assault on Rithagow to take it from the Kelornites, twice he failed. 

This time however, the challenge was different. A Foreigner had arrived on the shores of Rumithia in the south. He remembered the first time he heard the news that he was attracting a grand following amongst the rooklins, the third race of Rumithia who populated the forests and the natural areas of Rumithia. He had dismissed such a gathering as insignificant, the rooklins were the meekest of the three races and had long fallen away from the centre of power. 

His next intake of breath was ever so slightly sharper as the slightest sensation of regret leaked into his mind. He should have taken it more seriously. He should have acted then and there to nip any threat in the bud. He had been distracted from the battles with Yonmere, and his forces had been depleted. He didn’t want to send forces away from Rithagow for an insignificant threat. 

However, he soon learnt that others had joined his ranks too. The Foreigner didn’t create his own faction from stragglers or renegades as he had done years before when he formed the Kelornites. Instead he somehow drew pre-existing factions together, bringing them into his own all-encompassing faction. Word reached him of strange tidings, whispers of a mysterious aura the Foreigner had around him, a shadow of an ancient power. He remembered his indignant reaction as his spies even told him that the foreigner was some sort of conjurer, that could make things appear or disappear out of thin air. The word magic was used to describe his abilities.

“Magic,” he scoffed. It sounded absurd. Magical knowledge was unheard of, there had been no one who knew magical powers in Rumithia in his lifetime, not for as long as he could think back. It was obviously some bizarre rumour. 

The Foreigner had united a wide variety of enemy factions together into his own great force. He brought together humans and giants of all sorts of allegiances in a broad alliance that was unheard of. His eyes narrowed in anger as he thought of it.

“Chancers,” he growled bitterly under his breath. “Grifters. They know they can’t defeat me, so they join this outsider.”

It particularly infuriated him when he was told by his spies that Yonmere, his great rival, had joined the ranks of the foreigner. He had defeated Yonmere before, but it had been a hard fought battle, one that had tested his resolve. To know that Yonmere was returning with a great number of others all united around this Foreigner made him on edge. He would face the greatest challenge of his faction, of his reign in Rithagow, of his life. 

He took a deep breath to clear his thoughts. He had proved he was exceptional. Three years after seizing Rithagow, he was still at the height of his power. The great human heroes of old had never controlled so much territory as he did. He had built a faction from nothing and came to rule Rithagow in all but fourteen years. Dynasties like the one Yonmere belonged to had been established years before and never achieved what he had. 

“Fight the good fight and may the Gods give us victory,” Bevna said.

“Let the Gods observe, I will bring victory this day, my sweet” Kelorne responded.

Chapter II – The Unexpected Sign

Kelorne walked out of the hall, taking a deep breath and exhaling out all his doubts and leaving them behind him. He would emerge the fearless leader, the warrior for whom no feat was too great, for whom the impossible was possible. He walked down the stairs and into the bustling courtyard, where the battle preparations were being finalised. The external doors of the courtyard were being fortified by sacks, and wooden support beams were brought forward, ready to be deployed to hold the door if needed. On the courtyard walls, archers were taking up their positions, testing their bows and being supplied by other troops. 

He was met by his chief commander Sermas.  

“What is the latest on the movement of the Foreigner?” Kelorne asked. 

“Our spies reported that they’re on the move, they’ll be here after midday,” Sermas reported.

Kelorne seethed.

“The insolence of this creature. He marches upon us in broad daylight. I would ridicule him if I didn’t feel there was something sinister in this.”

Kelorne went to march forward, when Sermas put out a hand to stop him.

“My lord, the atmosphere is not the same as it was for other battles. Rumours of this Foreigner are abound. They say he can make fire from the sky and all sorts of things. This is not like the last battle against the Clayson dynasty. 

“Your summons was for all males over fourteen to take up arms. Amongst the troops that fought before there are new faces; boys stand amongst the men dressed for battle, fresh faces that look as though they have never had to groom them. Their raw youth is out of place amongst experienced soldiers. They are boys like my brother who took up arms chasing glory, not thinking for a moment about the reality of war. I ask again, why the need for so many soldiers this time? We suffered losses in the last battle, but nowhere near enough to warrant this extreme of a draft. These boys are totally unprepared to fight a man’s battle.”

Kelorne glowered at Sermas. He had once shown a convert’s zeal in fighting alongside Kelorne’s for many years and had become one of his closest followers. However, something had changed in him ever since they had conquered Rithagow where Sermas had lost his brother in the fight to take the fortress. 

“For the last time, we’ve called upon more fighters because this Foreigner is gathering up an army the likes of which have not been seen before. He’s brought redbeard and blackbeard giants together. He’s got Yonmere in his fold. How are we supposed to fight this battle with the same size battalion that fought just one of these rivals before.”

He grasped Sermas’ arm that was holding him back and held it for a moment.

“Remember your oath, Sermas. Remember all our years together. Remember the cause your brother died for. It was not in vain.”

The memory of his brother rangled with Sermas, who looked on bitterly as Kelorne walked away. He sighed afterwards and took another look around the courtyard, at the young men standing around. He saw his brother’s face everywhere. 

Kelorne walked through the courtyard towards the wall where the soldiers had taken up positions ready for the oncoming battle. They stood to attention and saluted him, but Sermas was right. Their ranks were filled with inexperienced youth. Youth who had signed up with eager exuberance, not stopping to think and dwell on their decisions. He could see on their faces that their enthusiasm was being tested. Amongst the older, battled hardened troops there was fear in the air of what unknown quality the Foreigner came forth with. The rumours had been circulated many times. Rumours of magic and other mysteries. It’s just what he would have wanted, Kelorne thought darkly, to have our courage eaten by fear of this unknown before they are even upon us. It was a clever tactic of war. 

It was his duty to raise them from their fears, to motivate them to look towards the great battle ahead, and remind them what the banner they fought under represented. 

He arrived at the outer wall and climbed up to where the archers stood. He turned around and looked onto the crowd that had gathered below to hear him speak. As the faces looked upon him, his memory going back to the speech he made after his grandest victory, the capture of Rithagow, and he remembered all the admiring faces gazing up in awe at him. He had to recapture that moment, that essence, to remind all of them what they had done and what they were capable of. 

“No matter how many times the mighty are tested, they will always succeed!” he cried out to the crowd.  

“We are the dominant faction of Rumithia. I said on the day we took Rithagow that my ambition does not stop here, but it stretches out to all of Rumithia, that I will one day unite this divided land.”

There were cheers at his words, but they were stale. There was no heart behind their cries of agreement. They were spellbound by fear still, no matter how superficially they responded. Kelorne knew the difference between true cheers from all his victories, and the nervous agreement dressed up as enthusiasm. 

Kelorne continued despite the disquiet.

“Our enemies have crawled from under their rocks, perceiving us to be weak so they can attack. They have fatally underestimated my power. They come here thinking that by uniting under the banner of this foreigner that they will defeat us. I say that it is they who have miscalculated.”

He took a deep breath as imagined what victory would feel like, the greatest victory he would have ever achieved.

“We shall wipe out our enemies in one swift swoop. When they are gone there will be no faction left in Rumithia strong enough to oppose us. Finally, I will realise my dream! This is the day we will destroy our enemies; all our rival factions and the treacherous Yonmere. This is the day I will take a significant step to overall control of Rumithia!”

There were cheers at Kelorne’s rallying cry, the soldiers beating their spears on the ground courtyard rumbled with their anticipation. Yet the hollowness rang out from the reactions. There was a sense that everything was different this time. 

Kelorne granted Sermas command of the troops on the ground, and he took his position on the wall with the archers to watch and wait for the arrival of the enemy. The height of the courtyard walls of Rithagow gave the archers an excellent view of the ground below, and they could see far into the distance. It was a clear day, with few clouds in the sky and so their sight was unimpeded.

“The enemy has been sighted” bellowed Kelorne, as he reacted to the movement he saw in the distance. “To your posts. Be ready with your arrows to fire on my command.  Foot soldiers, stand by the door. You must be there to prevent the enemy from breaking into Rithagow in whatever way they try.”

Kelorne could see quite far into the distance and could see a crowd of people moving closer. It was a daunting sight to behold as Kelorne was able to see just how many the outsider had amassed. From all directions he saw the outlines of a crowd; there were hundreds of thousands of people moving towards them. He discerned a number of giants in the crowd who were most distinct in the distance. Kelorne saw a figure leading the way, in front of the crowd by some distance. As he came closer, he noted his features. He was a dark-skinned man of plain appearance. He wore simple white robes with an emblem on his chest that Kelorne couldn’t make out. On his feet he wore sandals and, in his hands, the only thing he carried was a slender staff. Despite his apparent humility, he radiated surety and confidence. 

It must be the Foreigner, Kelorne thought to himself. The supposed conjurer, the one who has brought these masses against me.

The more he looked at the man, the more absurd he thought he looked. He wore no armour, carried no weapons, he was not in any way equipped for battle.  Magic. He remembered the rumours of the unknown quality the Foreigner supposedly had. He must be deceiving us with his magical tricks. He must have concealed his weapons.

The approach unnerved the archers, they had their arrows pressed against their bows, but their grip was soft, as they were more absorbed in watching rather than getting ready to fire.

“They’ll be in the line of fire shortly,” Kelorne said to his archers. 

“My lord!” the archer next to him exclaimed suddenly.  

“What is it?”

“Look at his chest my lord, the man in white. Look at the banners that his followers carry. He bears the Guardians’ sign on his chest, my lord. Look. I see them coming into focus now behind him, the banners. These are not faction banners. It’s the symbol of the Guardians!”

Kelorne looked out again. Sure enough as he came moved forward, further into view, he saw the sign; a plain gold eight-pointed star: 

He was taken aback. It couldn’t be. The Guardians had been gone for hundreds of years; their symbol hadn’t been seen since.

“An ancient banner unfurled doesn’t mean association with its true owners,” Kelorne spat. “Where does this Foreigner find all these tricks to unnerve us? How does he know symbols of history? He’s a shyster.”

The man at the front continued his march forward, and Kelorne became more and more unnerved. His breathing was quickening. His lip curled into a snarl.

“Fire upon the enemy,” Kelorne said suddenly. “Strike down the man in white.”

A confused look from the head archer met Kelorne’s order, an order that would normally have been carried out in an instant. 

“But…but he bears the symbol of the Guardians. What if he’s one of…”

“Never question my orders!” Kelorne barked. “I’m giving you the order to shoot. Shoot him or else I will shoot you!”

He saw more shocked faces amongst the archers at his command, but he was in no mood to moderate.

“All of you, I’m giving you an order. Bring this man down.”

Kelorne raised his arm, and the archers took aim, many of them reluctantly, acting out of fear rather than conviction. Kelorne didn’t care. The arrogant Foreigner thought spreading rumours and bearing old historic symbols and banners would unnerve him. Perhaps that was how he had conquered all the others. He would not fall for it. He would bring him down. 

Kelorne dropped his arm.

“May the Gods forgive us,” whispered the head archer under his breath as he let fly his arrow. A wave of arrows followed, fired into the sky, some towards the moving crowd and several moving towards the man in white.

For the first time since he had been sighted, the man in white stopped walking and turned his head away from Rithagow to look up at the sky, at the arrows raining down like an avalanche ready to strike land. The man closed his eyes and stretched his arms, raising his staff into the air. 

Without warning every single arrow froze where it was dangling in the air, some menacingly close to striking their targets. Suddenly, they burst into flames, burning fiercely and sizzling, emitting a brilliant light. Then at a similar speed at which they had begun burning, the flames simultaneously disappeared. There was no sign or remnant of the arrows, just the memory of the incredible display the soldiers of both sides had witnessed. The people on the Foreigner’s side watched in awe, but with assurance of their leader’s power. Whilst behind the walls of Rithagow, and on the walls, there was a reaction of shock and fear. The rumours were true, at least in part about magic. Who was this man, was the nervous whisper on all of their lips. 

The man in white calmly and assuredly, as if nothing had happened, turned his head from the sky back towards Rithagow and continued his path towards the tower. Kelorne and the archers were dumbstruck, astounded at the display they had just witnessed. All eyes on the wall were transfixed upon the man, gliding towards Rithagow. They were all lost for words and Kelorne’s mouth was wide open in shock.  

The man in white had stopped at the gates of Rithagow; he had raised his arms, ready to make an address.

Author’s Note

Thank you for reading and for stepping into Rumithia at this stage of its journey.

These chapters are shared as an early glimpse into the story and have not yet undergone final editing or refinement. The version you’ve read represents the story as it stands today, not its final form.

Your time, curiosity, and imagination are deeply appreciated.